The Magic In Your Blood
by Aimael
Summary: "Arthur had to wonder, whether he should not feel something, anything at all, that would hint at him being controlled by Merlin. Even as he tried, he still felt nothing." Merlin is heard saying things that he shouldn't have said, and Uther is determined to do whatever it takes to free Arthur from the sorcerer's influence - which might be more difficult than expected.
1. Undeniable

_A/N: Set between series 2 and 3, in the year when Morgana is missing._

 _ **Chapter One: Undeniable**_

* * *

 _Day Five_

Arthur stood by his window. The courtyard outside was almost empty. A few servants were scurrying across to make the most of the early morning hour, getting ahead of their work before their masters and mistresses would be up and ordering them about. Six guards in Camelot red stood by the large doors leading down to the oldest parts of the castle, where the armory, dungeons, and the cave where the dragon used to reside were, talking to each other, leaning against their spears and the walls. A guard change, Arthur expected. Six guards were a bit of an excess even in the most special of circumstances. A waste of manpower. Better then that a few should rest, so that they would be able to fight whenever the alarm bell struck next.

He didn't look up when the door to his chambers opened and closed again. He knew who it was already.

"You feel no different?" Uther's voice was slow, as if he already knew the answer.

"No, Father", Arthur admitted. He had wondered whether he would - feel different, that is. It appeared not.

Three of the guards by the double doors started gathering their helmets and shields. One of them looked like he was laughing at something the man to his right had said. Briefly, Arthur felt hurt by not being let in on the joke, and then he immediately felt ridiculous by the very thought.

Uther sighed. "Very well." A pause. "You do understand why we cannot stop pursuing this? Why you must… well, stay here, for the time being." He sounded slightly uncomfortable, Arthur noticed, and it made Arthur sympathise less for him than before, which was perhaps unkind and unjust of him.

"Of course. I am completely at your service." And if his voice was more formal than usual, surely his father couldn't blame him. "And you will have my continued full cooperation."

Arthur turned away from the window when the three guards who had been relieved from their posts entered the guard house by the castle gate. The two knights in full armour by the door watched Arthur's movements closely, but stayed put. Arthur felt the sudden urge to do something unexpected - throw something at one of them, perhaps, or yell as loud as he could, or take hold of the small letter opener on the desk a few feet away and drive it into his own flesh, just so the knights would _have_ to react, move, say something.

He did no such thing.

In an attempt to seem like his normal self, he cleared his throat and looked at his father, as the king sat down by the table in the middle of the room. He looked tired.

"What will you try next?"

Uther slowly shook his head. "We kept him sedated these past days, up until now, hoping forced lack of consciousness might break the curse. Apparently", he nodded at Arthur who stiffly nodded back, "it did not. There is a herb of some sort that induces delirium, or so they say; we might try that and see if he will talk. There is always pain, of course -" and if Arthur felt something twist in his gut it was only that he hadn't eaten since midday yesterday, "- but there have been suggestions that it might be dangerous for you to push him in that way, if his curse is as strong as we suspect, so we will try other means first."

"I see."

Uther frowned at Arthur's noncommittal reply.

"We will try everything, until you are free," Uther said, staring straight into Arthur's eyes and Arthur willed himself to look reassured.

"I know."

Neither spoke for a while, nor did the two knights by the door.

Finally, Uther rose. "I must go."

"I know." And when Uther looked dubious, frowning at Arthur's reply again, Arthur forced himself to add, "Of course you must. If there is any progress..?"

"You will be the first to know", the king promised. "Might I send Gaius in to make sure... there really has been no change?"

And Arthur saw the fear in his father's face. His fear that his son would not be released from the curse. That he might not trust his only son and heir ever again, for who knew what the sorcerer might have planned. Arthur saw his determination to _make things right_ , and Arthur found he could not deny his father what little there was to give.

"Of course, Father", he said with as much reassurance as he could muster. _Not enough, but better than nothing_. "And if… we do find something, we'll send for you."

Uther nodded, and sent his son one last look over his shoulder when he exited the room and took the two knights with him, to be posted just outside the doors instead of just inside them, Arthur knew. The key turned in the lock with a sharp _clang,_ and the heavy wooden beam that had been used to bolt the door from the outside for the last five days fell into place with a dull _thud_.

It was no prison, Arthur knew. It was merely temporary, and as soon as the sorcerer's curse was broken and they could be sure it was safe to let him out, as soon as he was free from the sorcerer's influence, he would be released.

The dungeons could be reached through the large doors in the courtyard, if someone first took a left turn, then followed the stairs down, and went right in the little guards' room. Arthur suddenly wished he could go with his father down the stairs and face the sorcerer too. He had questions - _so many questions_ \- and even if the curse was broken somehow, he didn't think he'd get all his answers, because _letting the sorcerer satisfy the prince's curiosity_ wasn't very high up on anyone's priority list. It shouldn't be very high up on his.

He took his place by the window again, watching the courtyard, _his people_ , and he tried to think whether he really felt no different today than he had done yesterday, or the day before that.

The problem was, Merlin had been his manservant for several years now. He could have put the curse on him at any time, and Arthur might not know what _normal_ felt like anymore. He had no true point of comparison anymore. That's what they all had said, when he first had scoffed at the thought of _Merlin_ enchanting him, cursing him, _influencing_ him. The evidence was plain to see, however, once Arthur had dared to face it - nothing, _nothing_ , had been as it had seemed. He hadn't seen anything that suggested Merlin used him, though; he couldn't _remember_ being cursed. But that did not mean the curse wasn't there.

Still, Arthur had to wonder, whether he should not feel something, _anything at all_ , that would hint at him being controlled by Merlin.

Even as he tried, he still felt nothing.

* * *

 _Day Two_

"This is _ridiculous_!" Arthur slammed his fist on the council table. "I would have _known_ if I'd been enchanted - I feel fine! See?" He spread his arms wide and glared at his father, a challenge in his eyes, daring them to say he looked anything less than _in full control_.

"Don't be daft, Arthur", Uther snapped, "magic is treacherous, there's nothing to say you would notice you were cursed before you were forced by his hand to act."

"This is _Merlin_ we're talking about", Arthur reminded his father. "He's been my manservant for _years_ , surely if he was going to - to _control_ me, he would have done so by now! He's had a chance to do so any number of times!"

"And how do you know he hasn't?"

This stopped Arthur short.

"Well", he flustered, "I haven't done anything I - haven't approved of, I dare say -"

"How do you know you haven't?"

Uther's gaze was direct, and Arthur found it hard to express what he _knew_ , even less what he suspected, as he always did when his father looked at him in that way. The words wouldn't come, wouldn't string themselves together in coherent sentences, under that gaze. As if Uther had seen so much more than Arthur had seen, as if Uther knew so much more than Arthur knew, so that Arthur's knowledge and experiences were inconsequential.

"Magic, Arthur," Uther began, leaning forward on his throne in a parody of a confidential, private conversation, even as the guards stood tall by his side, even as his advisors mumbled amongst themselves at the back of the throne room, "is much more treacherous than I hope you will ever know. It corrupts, twists, darkens those who wield it, and it leaves little trace when it doesn't want to do so. It is very possible you wouldn't know if you were under an enchantment - no", he raised his hand for silence as Arthur opened his mouth to protest _again_ , "I'd say it is even _probable_. The boy has magic. You've seen it yourself."

Arthur could not protest. _Yes. Merlin had magic_.

"The _only reasonable explanation_ is that he wormed his way closer to you because of who you are."

It felt wrong to agree to that. But Arthur _had_ thought about it, despite what he had yelled at his father earlier, and though he had tried, _he had tried_ , he hadn't been able to come up with a better explanation himself.

"He obviously already sees you as king, as he has expressed this himself." Uther leaned back once again, looking murderous. An act of treason there alone, no sorcery needed. "You've heard him." And yet again, Arthur could not protest.

"You _must see_ how dangerous a position you have been put in - becoming a puppet king to a sorcerer behind the screens! Acting according to his every will, once you've both gotten rid of me!"

"Never," burst out from Arthur without thought.

"I know you would never willingly act in such a way," Uther reassured him, with a quick, slight smile. "I know you are loyal to Camelot, its king, your father." The smile vanished. "But you must stop defending the sorcerer _at once_ , Arthur. This is the enchantment talking, surely you see that. You're _strong_. Don't give in to it."

Arthur nodded once, more to have something to do while he _still_ could not find the words to convince his father that _while all this was true_ , this was not, _could_ not be, the full story. They were missing something - Arthur knew it, an ache in his guts, a gnawing feeling of wrongness, of incompleteness. He needed time to _think, damnit_ , because he just couldn't figure out what didn't add up.

"Might," he started slowly, "there be a way to find out whether I am… _afflicted_ by something of a… magical kind? Some way to see whether an enchantment has been put in place?"

 _So many questions_. No time to find them. And if - _if_ \- he could not trust his own judgement, his own memories, _if_ all this was true, or even if they only had reason to believe it _might_ be, then he would need another kind of proof.

Uther looked at Arthur for several long seconds. Then he nodded, his face carefully blank.

"There might be."

* * *

The king had a purpose again. _To fight magic. To protect his son._

In a way, it was a relief to see him this way, Arthur thought. He had not been himself since Morgana's disappearance. Had seemed so lost, each time they came back empty handed. Had been so helpless in his anger.

Here was something, now, he could actually do. _Imprison a sorcerer. Get him to talk. Free his son from the curse._

And then, _kill a sorcerer._

In another way, the relief Arthur might feel over seeing his father stronger than ever had a bitter aftertaste.

"Sire?"

Gaius stood in the door to the king's chambers. Arthur thought he looked worn, then winced at his own thoughts. Of course Gaius was worn. Whether with worry for his own life or his ward's was unsure, and Arthur would not ask. It would feel… disrespectful.

And anyway, he felt rather worn himself. The past days had been trying. He was not in a position to judge.

"Enter, Gaius." Uther waved him in. "What kept you? Have you brought what I asked of you?"

Gaius bowed slightly. "I have, Sire." Shuffling up to the table, he put down an item on it, no larger than a cherry, wrapped in a piece of linen. The sound it made as it hit the wooden surface seemed much louder than it should have, indicating a much heavier object than should be possible for something of that size. "Forgive me for taking so long, the stairs are steep and the vaults are not as… well, _organised_ , as they might be."

 _The magical vaults?_ Arthur presumed so, looking at the small cloth-covered object with renewed interest.

"How does it work?" A sideways glance told Arthur his father stared at the object on the table, as if ready to strike if it were to attack him.

"As far as I understand," Gaius began softly, with something of a reassuring note in his voice, "it is not a very… powerful artefact."

"But it _is_ still a magical piece?" Arthur's voice was sharp, disbelieving. "Surely the wielding of one is forbidden." He looked at his father, who merely made a _shush_ ing gesture with his hand, impatient, still not taking his eyes off of the piece of linen.

"No _wielding_ is required, Sire", said Gaius. "It is something of a detector, nothing more. A willing subject," and a quick look his way told Arthur exactly who _that_ was in this case, "holds the crystal, letting it touch skin - though I have reason to believe blood is even more reliable, skin should be sufficient - and if the holder is the subject of a spell or a curse, the crystal will give off a shine. That is all. It cannot affect you in any way."

Not entirely reassured, Arthur looked at his father. "A crystal. A magical one." He did not say _So now you expect me to trust magic_ , or _Is it not treason then, to order the use of a magical artefact,_ or _This is insanity, Father_.

To the King's defence, Arthur thought Uther looked uncomfortable with all the things he clearly heard Arthur think. Unfortunately, Arthur was very well aware that his father handled feeling like a hypocrite ill.

"Yes, a magical one", Uther said sharply. "You wanted _proof_ ; I am indulging you in this simply because his hold over you should be much easier to break if you fought it too. If you have come to your senses on your own and require no more _proof_ than there already is - which should be _plenty_ for anyone _not under the influence of a sorcerer_ -" Arthur did not flinch "- I will send the crystal back to where it came from and we shall never speak of this again."

"No", Arthur said quickly, reaching forward to intercept Uther's hand on its way towards the covered crystal, "no, Father, I… wish to know. To see for myself." And even though he _never_ had liked using the words when he didn't feel they were warranted, "I apologize."

He didn't know if he wished to know - he could not get over the fact that this all felt _ridiculous_ , as if it was an elaborate prank, where apparently _everyone in the castle_ would suddenly jump out from behind a corner and yell _surprise_ and that they had all been in on it hadn't it been fun, had he truly started to believe it, that his manservant, the fool, the clumsy idiot, actually had been _a sorcerer all along_ , wasn't it hilarious? Merlin had _never_ showed anything but loyalty towards Arthur, towards Camelot; the mere thought of him _conspiring against his king_ was laughable.

Except he had magic.

And he had _heard him, damn it all to hell, he had heard him._

Arthur was a knight of Camelot. He had trained not to shy away from hardships, endure, stand tall and face whatever unpleasantnesses would come. And he would. Even if he didn't want to know.

So he nodded towards Gaius.

He carefully took the crystal in his left hand (if it was going to burn straight through the flesh in the way magical items surely sometimes worked, it would not be his swordhand he hurt).

And then he just stared at the soft, steady glow the inconspicuous little rock gave.

Uther gave a hiss, half triumphant, half furious. " _There._ "

Gaius face filled with horror for a brief moment, before he schooled his features. Arthur distantly registered both that _Gaius hadn't believed the crystal would alight_ and _Gaius was lucky Uther hadn't seen his face_.

His right arm felt heavier than usual when he drew his dagger; his movements felt sluggish and slow as he made a cut in his palm right next to the crystal. He cut deeper than he had planned; bled more, hurt more. It annoyed him, for some reason, even though he himself had inflected the wound. Gaius made a gesture as if to take the dagger from him, or knock the crystal out of his hand, but then stilled immediately.

The crystal twinkled merrily, brighter than before, when Arthur's blood pooled under it in his palm.

In disgust, he turned his palm, and the crystal fell to the stone floor with a soft clatter, splattering blood as it rolled. _His tainted blood_.

Arthur looked his father in the eyes. The triumph he saw there felt inappropriate to Arthur. It felt unseemly to rejoice in the death sentence of a man, that this crystal had now inevitably confirmed. Even though he knew that his father merely celebrated _having been right all along_ , and not really the fate of his son's manservant, it still felt _wrong_.

Then, Arthur suddenly felt afraid. He also felt as if he probably should have felt that first, that it should have been his immediate reaction.

"I am under the influence of magic," he said, and the words echoed in the king's chambers, Even louder, Arthur heard his own heartbeat echo in his ears, his blood rush through his veins. "I cannot trust my own judgement." _Couldn't he?_ "I will accept any course of action you see fit, Father."

The king laid one hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed it briefly, before he left the rooms.

Arthur let Gaius clean the wound and then wrap it neatly with clean bandages. Neither spoke.

All the while, he didn't take his eyes off of the still gleaming crystal, stained with blood, lying innocently next to the chair Uther had been sitting in.

* * *

It was almost dark when someone finally knocked on Arthur's door. He forced himself to stop playing with the fraying ends of the bandages on his hand and sat up taller in his chair, smoothing his hair. He hadn't looked in a mirror all day, wasn't sure what he looked like. Wasn't sure what was visible on his face.

He cleared his throat. "Enter."

A guard - a young boy with dark curly hair sticking out from beneath his mail coif - opened the door without meeting Arthur's eyes. "The King," he announced, and Uther entered. Arthur instinctively rose to his feet. To Arthur's surprise, the young soldier and his fellow guard who usually never entered Arthur's rooms, _especially_ not uninvited, stepped through as well before sliding the door shut, taking up post on either side.

Uther removed a pair of black gloves and rubbed one hand over his eyes in an uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. Arthur wasn't sure he liked it.

"He denies it all, of course," Uther stated as if continuing a previous conversation, sitting down across Arthur, and the prince sank down into his chair again.

"He denies having magic?" Arthur asked, and felt angry. He'd seen it with his own eyes, it _could not_ be denied. Surely even _Merlin_ -

\- well, he supposed he shouldn't assume what Merlin would do, think, say or anything else, really. The increasingly familiar weight in his abdomen was back. Heavy like lead.

"No." And apparently Arthur had held on to _some sort of hope that this was all a terrible, terrible mistake_ , because the lead weighing in his stomach turned cold with disappointment. "He denies cursing you and he refuses to take the curse off, however."

Arthur nodded stiffly. "I see."

"In the meantime, until we've… ascertained there is no danger in breaking the curse forcibly, I would have you stay in your chambers, Arthur. We cannot be sure you won't try to aid the sorcerer."

At saying this, Uther looked slightly uncomfortable. The heavy weight in Arthur's stomach that felt like _betrayal_ twisted at _breaking the curse forcibly_ because Arthur had seen prisoners in Camelot after they had been _broken forcibly_ and evil sorcerer or not, somehow he still wasn't very keen on seeing his manservant that way - it just felt _wrong_ that's all - but Uther went on explaining the details of Arthur's prolonged stay in his chamber and Arthur understood that it wasn't the _breaking forcibly_ Uther was uncomfortable with, it was locking his own son up because he couldn't trust him. And of course it was. Merlin was a evil sorcerer, and _breaking him forcibly_ should not be a problem.

It was probably the curse talking, the twisting in his guts. The overwhelming sense of needing to protect Merlin from being _forcibly broken_. It would make sense, for the curse to have instilled a sense of _loyalty_ towards his manservant.

His manservant the sorcerer.

He agreed to every precaution his father would want to take, and stared at his half-filled wine glass to the noise of his doors being reinforced and then heavily bolted.

* * *

 _Day One_

 _Faded voices against the stone walls._

" _You should bow before your betters, boy, before I make you."_

" _I will not."_

" _Come on, boy._ " _A tone of amusement. "You're a servant. You must be used to bowing and scraping before everyone in the castle. Bow, and I'll even let you live."_

" _I do not_ scrape _before people!"_

"Abuge."

 _An indignant sound._

" _See, that wasn't so hard. Now get out of my way."_

" _Not happening, I'm afraid."_

 _A tone of warning. "I am only considering sparing you because I can sense the magic in your blood, boy, but I will not have you stand in my way. Last chance."_

" _No, I - wait, you - you can sense it? How?"_

"Forþ fleoge."

"Scildan!"

 _A heavy_ thud _._

 _Sudden silence._

" _I will make you bend your knee for that, boy." Fury._

" _I'll bend my knee to Arthur. No one else." Calm._

" _Your little pet king, is he?" Mocking. "The son of Uther Pendragon, having claimed a magic user to defend him? A royal advisor?"_

" _Yes. Now_ leave _. Arthur is under my protection - and God, you wouldn't believe the time it took to make him even half decent - and I don't want to have to hurt you -"_

 _An incredulous laugh. "Your little pet will have to find someone else to whisper in his ear when I'm done with you, I promise you that, boy._ Ic bebeode þu feallan!"

 _Yells in a language long forgotten._

 _A crash._

 _Footsteps._

" _STOP WHERE YOU ARE, SORCERER!"_

 _A final_ thud _of a body having fallen._

" _I - I - wait, no, I can expl-"_

" _Somehow I rather doubt it." Coldness._

 _A rustle of heavy fabric._

Damn it all.

" _...Sire!"_

" _Are you hurt, Sire?"_

" _...Arthur?" Uncertainty._

 _Arthur closed his eyes. He did not wish to see his manservant's blue eyes look upon him as if innocent, when they had just now been golden; his arms in the firm grip of the guards, when they had just now been extended towards the slumped pile of black cloth that had once been another sorcerer._

 _Footsteps._

" _Sire!_

 _Footsteps._

" _Any orders concerning your - your manservant, Sire?"_

 _The voices faded._

" _Arthur!_ Arthur!"

 _A noise of flesh hitting flesh. A surprised yelp. "That's your_ Prince _, sorcerer."_

" _ARTHUR!"_

 _Footsteps._

 _Echoed against the stone walls._

* * *

Abuge = bow (verb)

Scildan = shield

Ic bebeode þu feallan = I command you to fall

* * *

 _A/N: My first chaptered story in years, would you look at that! I expect either six or so chapters, with the storyline I've planned so far, or that it gets a life of its own and decides to be a monstrosity of at least 15. I expect updates to be infrequent, because I know myself by now._

 _I've fallen in love with the Merlin fandom over the last couple of months and I've probably read about half of what is published here since then (and you all seem amazing, just so you know). This story idea just wouldn't stay silent though, and I couldn't find anyone who had already written it - so I thought that even though I haven't written fanfic for over seven years, maybe I had to do it now. If you'd like to leave a review, it makes me happy to read them! :)_


	2. Layers And Layers

_**Chapter Two: Layers And Layers**_

* * *

 _Some Time After The Incident_

The world spun slowly as he laboriously climbed his way up to consciousness and opened one eye. It was dizzying, and he couldn't stop a low groan. He shut his eye firmly again, concentrating on breathing so he wouldn't be sick. In. Out.

In. Out.

His tongue felt… odd in his mouth. A useless piece of meat, too big, too dry. Water, he realised, he needed water, and desperately so. But he would need to open his eyes for that, and he didn't think he was quite ready yet.

So he stayed a bit longer, breathing in, breathing out.

The next time he carefully opened one eye, the world wasn't spinning anymore, even though it looked suspiciously blurry and dark around the edges and there was a buzzing in his ears he rather suspected meant he still wasn't completely safe from the risk of passing out again. He dared open the other eye as well.

 _Oh. The dungeons. Right._

A sharp pang of panic, regret, horror. _Arthur knew. Uther knew._

To his immense relief, a bowl at least half-full with water stood just a few feet away. He should be able to reach it. In a little while. As soon as he could bring himself to move. For some reason, it didn't feel very appealing at the moment.

He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for. From the light that fell through the windows further down the corridor and made the dust dance, he judged it to be mid-day now, possibly early afternoon, but of course it was impossible to tell of _which_ day. Had he been gone day? Perhaps more, considering how thirsty he was. Or maybe whatever Gaius had used to drug him with had a side-effect of dehydration. Also possible.

There was a dripping sound coming from somewhere. Fitting, for a castle dungeon, or so Merlin thought. Other than that, his own breathing, and the occasional crackle from the torches, it was quiet. Not even a guard snoring or impatiently tapping his fingers on the small table. That was odd, now that he thought about it. Shouldn't there be guards? At least one? He was a _dangerous sorcerer,_ after all.

Water first. Thinking later.

With a rather ungraceful jerk he managed to roll his body over to lying on his belly instead of sprawled out on his side. He considered it quite an accomplishment that he still stayed awake.

Disregarding all dignity, he half crawled, half heaved himself forward towards the wooden bowl. He didn't notice how his hands were shaking until he had taken the bowl in both hands, swaying slightly as he sat on the dirty straw on the floor, and had to concentrate as to not spill it all over himself as he drank.

Fie, he felt terrible.

The water tasted stale, as if it had been in the bowl for at least a day. That was alarming. It hadn't been here when he was last awake. He must have been out of it for longer than he had thought.

He drank it too quickly - he knew he _should_ have taken a little at a time but he was just so _thirsty_ \- and then spent far too long sitting with his head between his knees, breathing, trying to not bring it all back up again.

When he finally trusted himself not to be sick all over the floor, he shuffled over to the wall and leaned against it.

So the first of Uther's many ideas had been to keep him sedated, in hope that would break the curse over Arthur. Merlin could see the logic. It would make sense for the spell to need proximity, and what other reason could a sorcerer have to stay so near the crown prince of Camelot, endangering his own life, than to make sure his curse would be reinforced regularly? None, surely.

He hadn't quite figured out why the crystal had reacted to Arthur's blood. Uther had told him it had with such a vicious triumph in his voice, that Merlin had no reason to believe he was lying about it - but he also knew the crystal hadn't reacted due to any _curse_ or spell that would _control_ Arthur, simply because he had not put one on him. It might react due to the events surrounding Arthur's birth, maybe - Merlin didn't know if magic could leave traces for so long, but if it could, it would make sense if magic of such power did. Some lingering trace of some _stupid_ spell or another that someone had put Arthur under at one point? Anhora's curse, perhaps, that had been powerful too. He had performed magic on Arthur himself only last week - only a shield, a quick one and not very powerful, as they fought bandits in the woods, but maybe that had been enough? Or maybe Arthur's blood would be recognised as magic all by its own, as the blood of the Once and Future King of the Druidic prophecies? Impossible to know. And he hadn't quite had time to neither think nor ask more about it before he had been _drugged_.

He rubbed his shoulder remembering the hard hands of the guards who had held him, as Gaius poured the sedative down his throat. It didn't ache now - well, no more than the rest of his body. Also a sign he had been out of it for longer than he had first thought. Three days, then, perhaps? He felt queasy at the thought. Oddly enough, he didn't feel hungry at all. Maybe he would, as soon as he didn't feel ill anymore.

And of course there would be no change in Arthur. He wouldn't feel the curse lift. He wouldn't feel _different_ , just because Merlin had been unconscious for a few days.

He wondered whether he should escape.

Uther knew he had magic. Arthur had seen it. The guards who had found him fighting Uvalor had seen it.

 _Damn_ that man anyway. Just another petty sorcerer, bent on revenge on the Pendragons, of the like which Merlin had seen _so many_ by now. He hadn't _wanted_ to kill him - sometimes it felt like he paved his own road to hell with all the magic users he killed in the service of Arthur - but he had had no _choice_. It felt deeply unfair that he should have managed to hide his magic for so long, only to be revealed by _just another_ common sorcerer with a half-thought through plan of revenge. Still, there were too many powerful artefacts in the vaults, and even a mediocre magic user could pose a real danger to Camelot if they had gotten their hands on them.

In any case, it meant he was a dead man walking, as long as he stayed captive. If it had been only Arthur who had seen…. maybe, maybe he could have managed to convince Arthur he was on his side. That he was protecting him. Used his magic for good. For Arthur.

But the guards had seen too. Sir Montague, one of Camelot's most honourable, most dutiful knights, and old Sir Cador, who Merlin had been told had been one of Uther's most faithful during the Purge, had been among them. They had seen him, golden eyes blazing, the last words of the Old Religion having barely passed his lips - had seen the whirlwind that had felled Uvalor, crashed him into the wall never to rise. They had seen what he could do. Arthur could not have protected Merlin even if he had wanted to.

He had probably not wanted to. Fie, what a miserable thought.

And Arthur had heard them talk - enough to hear Merlin not deny Arthur being his _pet king, making him decent, whispering in his ear_. Agreeing with Uvalor had seemed like the quickest way to end the conversation at the time, and so he hadn't bothered correct him - he had just wanted the man to _leave, damnit_ , and to understand Merlin _would_ fight to protect Arthur so there was no _point_ in him trying - but he bitterly regretted not contradicting him now. He knew what it must have sounded like, and it wasn't good. He didn't blame Arthur for thinking the worst, he truly didn't. Didn't blame him for telling Uther all he must have heard.

Didn't blame him, but might still wish he hadn't. Might still wish he had demanded an explanation from Merlin first, instead of walking away.

Irritably, he drew his knees closer to his chest. The empty water bowl clattered to the floor, but he couldn't be bothered. The world had begun to spin again. He briefly wondered what in the world Gaius had given him, and if he'd meant to do this. He rather hoped not.

With a pang of guilt, he suddenly really, _really_ hoped Gaius was alright. That he hadn't done anything stupid. It had _looked_ like Uther was convinced Gaius was completely loyal to him, when they had been down here drugging him, but if that was days ago, anything could have happened…

He wondered what Gwen was thinking.

He then decided he actually didn't want to think about what _anyone_ thought of him.

He didn't dare reach for his magic just now. With the way the world still blurred and shook and buzzed, he suspected the sedative hadn't left his body completely just yet. With his luck, he'd be able to spell himself out of the cell only to faint in the corridor outside. He'd have to wait until he felt better before escaping. _If_ he wanted to, that was. _Getting to talk to Arthur_ was the first priority, but Merlin rather suspected he might get to do that if he just stayed put.

Arthur would feel betrayed. Hate him, maybe. That made sense. But the Arthur Merlin knew tended to face his fears - often with utter fury and a sword in his hand - and considering his own state at the moment, it seemed rather likely he would get to talk to Arthur sooner if he stayed, rather than if he tried to seek him out on his own. He wouldn't even make it up the stairs just yet - but Arthur might make his way down to confront him.

Merlin let out a shaky breath.

Maybe, just maybe, Arthur would let him explain.

Maybe he'd listen.

Maybe he'd understand.

Shivering slightly, listening to the _drip drip drip_ of water from somewhere, both wishing and not wishing for footsteps, for something to happen, Merlin settled against the wall to wait.

* * *

 _He wished he had been just moments later. That he hadn't seen the cloaked figure turn a corner further down a corridor and gone to investigate. That he had made a mistake following him, losing him before he heard voices. That he had decided to get more guards instead of deciding to listen for clues. That they had heard him and he had interrupted them before they could say all they had said._

 _Or even, childishly, that they afterwards hadn't heard him as he moved, inadvertently rustling the heavy tapestry behind him. That he could have stayed behind the corner. Pretend it hadn't happened for another half hour. Pretend to have had seen nothing, heard nothing, wave it all away._

 _Merlin couldn't have magic. It wasn't possible. They had all laughed about it together a few years past, when he'd confessed to it himself._

 _He couldn't have had concealed it for so long. Merlin was a terrible liar. He couldn't have managed._

 _But apparently he had, and apparently he could._

* * *

 _Day Five_

The servant girl tried to be quiet, he knew that. He tried to ignore her as she went around her business; gathering plates and leftover food in a little basket, wiping down the table where he had spilled wine yesterday with a cloth, putting a log in the fireplace and gently blowing on the embers to make it ignite, picking up his belt from beside his bed and putting it back in the chest beside the bed. He kept staring out the window, studiously keeping his attention on the two guards looking bored in the courtyard, but the small noises that told him exactly where she was and what she was doing at all times still drew his attention.

Odd, how such normal, familiar sounds could annoy him so much. Normally, he took no notice of them. He wondered whether it was because he had gotten used to the silence in his chambers (he doubted it) or because she _did it all wrong_ (if he was honest with himself, he seriously doubted that too, but he wasn't really in the mood to be reasonable).

Suddenly, the guards down on the courtyard straightened visibly, even from this distance, and Arthur straightened along with them without thinking. The king, with his black cloak flowing behind him, and his little entourage - Gaius was there, at least, and two knights; Arthur couldn't quite make which out from this angle - approached the old wing. His father exchanged a few words with the one to the right, who shook his head when he replied. The sun stood low in the sky now and it glinted off of the guard's helmet and blinded Arthur for a brief second.

He wondered what _hallucinatory_ and _inducing of delirium_ would mean. Babbling nonsense? Confessions? Would it work as some sort of truth serum - giving clues as to how to break the _curse_?

He wondered whether he would feel different, once the curse broke. Whether there were parts of him screaming to be let out, fighting the force influencing him. Whether his true self was buried deep underneath layers and layers of magic, enforced every day for _years_ and longed to be set free.

He wondered whether he would recognise himself, once it had broken - and he _hated_ the thought that maybe he wouldn't, and he _hated_ the thought that maybe he would.

The king, Gaius and the two knights had apparently finished their conversation, because they entered the doors behind the guards. They would turn left now. Follow the stairs down. Pass through the guard's room - and the guards there would rise quickly, startled by the prominent visitor, Arthur knew - and open the heavy door with bars in the small window, that led to the inner corridor of cells.

When he had been to see Arthur earlier that day, Gaius had said Merlin hadn't woken yet as far as he knew, but since he hadn't been given another dose, he most probably would wake today. He would most likely be awake then, when the king, Gaius and the two knights entered.

He wondered what it did to a man to be sedated for four days. He hadn't wanted to ask Gaius.

He wondered why no one had seemed worried over the fact that the _known sorcerer_ they kept in the _notoriously unsafe_ dungeons would no longer be sedated when the king came to interrogate him. Maybe that was related to the _having been sedated for four days_. Maybe that would… inhibit someone's magic. Arthur didn't want to know. Nor did he want to reflect on if, or why, his father would know that.

He ran his hand through his hair and tried to pretend it wasn't shaking. He had finally admitted to himself that he was… _disconcerted_ , by this whole… thing. Something everyone else probably had seen days ago, if he was honest with himself. He _was_ uncomfortable. It had affected him - as in, he wasn't _un_ affected, he wasn't _impassive_ , and yes, damn it, it _did bother him_ that his manservant had _used him_ and _had used magic to do so_ and he had thought -

Well. It didn't matter what he had thought. He had been wrong.

They would have reached the cells by now.

"Sire?"

The voice was high pitched, submissive.

Arthur sighed. He considered to keep staring out the window, to keep his vigil until either his father came back over the courtyard, having finished the task he had come for, or the sun had truly set and he wouldn't be able to see who passed below. That would be stubborn and childish, however, and he _certainly_ wasn't either. So he turned to face her, and said: "Yes?"

The girl - named something or other, Arthur was sure she must have said at one point these past three days - looked at him with that slight judgemental look in her eyes only very well trained servants had when they were going to make a _very strong suggestion_. Arthur hated it - _just say what you mean damn you or hold your tongue_ \- but he couldn't very well blame the girl for trying to do her job.

"Would you perhaps like me to put out a fresh change of clothes for you, Sire?" she _suggested_ in that light voice of hers. Like a rat's squeak. "And for me to take your clothes to the washroom?"

Arthur stared at her. She dared _suggest_ he smelled, did she?

Then he almost burst out laughing, which he kept himself from doing, because only madmen laugh when they are locked up in rooms.

Well. She was probably right.

He took one last look out the window. The sun had sunk beneath the walls of Camelot, and the courtyard lay in shadows. He took a deep breath. _No use thinking about it now. He would know, sooner or later._ He started unlacing his shirt in the front.

"Yes, I would. And tell someone to bring me water for a bath."

The corner of the girl's mouth twitched once. She bobbed a quick curtsey.

"Yes, Sire."

* * *

 _Some Time After The Incident_

He must have been asleep, because when the door to the inner corridor of cells opened, he startled awake, and scrambled to a seating position before he had a mind to think.

The torchlight lit up the dim corridor and Merlin blinked. It looked to be around sunset. He must have slept for hours.

Then he had no more time for musings.

"Sorcerer."

Uther stood flanked by Sir Montague and Sir Leon. Leon was a surprise - he was mostly one of Arthur's knights, Uther rarely used him anymore - but Montague made sense. He'd been part of this since the beginning.

Merlin scrambled to his feet and _willed_ himself not to look weak. _One should stand in the presence of the king._ "Sire." Too late, he remembered _one should not make eye contact with the king_ and had time to see Uther's eyes narrow in anger before he set his eyes on Uther's feet instead. He thought he might have spotted Gaius behind the king but didn't want to aggravate Uther by looking up again.

He felt better now, he found. He could probably reach for his magic, if he needed to. He wondered if -

"Are you ready to confess?"

Merlin took a shallow breath and exhaled through his nose. _He should probably have spent more time thinking about a strategy regarding what to say to Uther, and less time worrying about what Arthur thought._ "I have confessed to all the crimes of which I'm guilty, my lord."

 _Having magic_. Practicing magic. In its own twisted way, it had been a relief to finally, _finally_ be able to answer _yes_ to the question _do you admit you are a sorcerer_ , because even though he wasn't _technically_ a sorcerer, it was close enough to count, and even though he knew he'd signed his death warrant with that _yes_ , at least he didn't have to lie anymore.

He'd always hated lying.

"You still refuse to lift the curse you have put on Prince Arthur?"

"I have put no curse on Prince Arthur," Merlin said and couldn't help but look up, meet Uther's gaze and try to _will_ him to understand, even though he knew it to be futile. A thought struck him. "I'm not sure why his blood reacted that way actually but maybe if I could see him, I could - figure it -"

 _Idiot_. He shut his mouth with a snap as soon as his brain caught up with it, but the damage was done. _They'd see any attempt to contact Arthur as a threat - that was stupid -_

Merlin was suddenly very glad of the thick iron bars that separated him from the king, because Uther was _livid_. Merlin had no doubt he would have struck him down with his bare hands, had he only been able to reach, and Merlin took a small step back - just to be on the safe side.

"You will _never_ ", Uther hissed through clenched teeth, "speak to the Prince _ever again_."

The complete certainty in the king's voice settled as a heavy weight in Merlin's stomach. _For one so terrified of magic_ , _Uther sure acted fearless._ There was no hint of fear in his face - only anger, and something Merlin thought might be triumph. He did not break eye contact - and even as Merlin thought _You will not be around forever, and then it's Arthur's choice what to do_ and _He will keep killing innocents until the day he dies_ and _I could kill you in an instant, do you even know that_ and _You will never be my king, Sire_ , he felt… almost impressed with Uther's bravery. Or stubbornness.

Well. Merlin could appreciate the virtue of being truly stubborn.

"Gaius", Uther said, still looking at Merlin. "Prepare what you need to. I want answers."

 _More herbs, then._

That most likely meant he wouldn't be tortured. Yet, anyway.

That, in turn, meant he had made the right choice, staying put in his cell. Even if it had been Uther this time… next time, it might be Arthur.

Merlin said nothing as Gaius sent Sir Leon to fetch a chair from the guard room, poured something leafy and green into a wooden bowl and put it on the chair, mixed it with something powdery from a bottle, sniffed the mixture, and then nodded to the king.

Gaius had not made eye contact with Merlin during his ministrations, but he did so when Sir Montague unlocked the door to Merlin's cell. His face was impassive, impossible to read, and it _hurt damn it_ that Merlin couldn't ask him something as little as _what's in the bowl,_ because he thought that if he started talking to Gaius, he might just start bawling. _Like a girl_ , as Arthur would say. Start demanding advice. Start yelling at him, for not having visited, for not having told him _anything_ about Arthur, about what Uther planned, about _anything at al_ l. Start accusing him of _poisoning_ him with _whatever the hell_ it had been in the sedative and _fie Gaius_ had he not _realized_ he would feel lonely and unsure and _hurt_ when he woke up?

But Gaius looked unhurt. He had not been charged with harbouring a sorcerer - so Uther must believe he hadn't known - and Merlin could keep it that way, just by keeping his mouth closed. And that was worth - that was _surely_ worth - feeling a bit lonely for.

Merlin willed away the burning behind his eyes that was completely different from the tingling he felt whenever he used magic, and embarrassingly close to what someone who _just possibly_ were quite close to tears might feel.

He didn't really think Gaius would just stand by and _actually_ poison him, whatever he might have thought a second before, so he wasn't _scared,_ as such, when Sir Montague and Sir Leon grabbed him by his arms and forced him to his knees. Uncomfortable, perhaps. Especially with the way Montague held him - that would bruise, and he winced slightly. Might already have bruised, actually. Yet more uncomfortable, when his head was forced just over the bowl on the chair and held there. _What was in that damned thing anyway? More sedatives? Something painful? Some kind of truth potion?_ He should probably have listened more closely when Gaius explained the properties of the herbs in his cupboards and on his shelves…

"Tell us about the curse, sorcerer."

"There's nothing to tell", Merlin said, and he heard the nervous tone in his voice. "There is no curse, my lord, I swear it."

There was no reply. He tensed, waiting for _something_ , whatever would come that he didn't know of - and then he still flinched, when someone - Gaius? - threw a small, burning stick into the green mess in the bowl. He wasn't particularly fond of having fire that close to his face, thank you _very_ much.

Some pieces instantly started smoldering, creating little islands of light that quickly spread. The smoke was dark and it tickled in his nose.

He sneezed.

Montague's hand tightened in his hair and he let out a little involuntary yelp - and then sneezed again, inhaling deeply. The smoke seemed to be everywhere, when he opened his eyes - his nose, his mouth, his lungs, _his brain_ , and he felt sick again. Drifting, floating.

Heavy. Slow.

Someone spoke behind him, but he couldn't quite make out the words.

"What?" he said, loudly so that they'd hear him asking for clarification.

No answer, only more mumbling. The glow in the bowl before him looked like tiny eyes, wandering over the sky. Like cats.

 _No. This is not right._

Merlin shut his eyes.

The sparks in the bowl seemed to follow him into the darkness, and he _just_ had time to panic, realising that this, _whatever this was_ , was apparently the desired effect, and he hadn't had time to _understand_ it yet and _how was he supposed to counter something he could not understand_ , when someone spoke his name.

"Yes." He willed his eyes to open.

Someone met his gaze. They looked like a cat. Wandering over the night sky.

 _No,_ damn _it, that isn't right._

They looked human. _They looked human_.

"Tell me about the Prince, Merlin", the human said.

"The Prince", he repeated.

"Yes. Tell me about Arthur."

 _Arthur._ He knew Arthur. He nodded. "Arthur." He sneezed again. "My King."

" _Yes_ ", said the human, and its eyes started to smolder. Like fire. Like longing. _Like fear. Like hate_. "Tell me about your King."

* * *

 _A/N: Sir Montague made a brief appearance in 4:1, so he's not mine._

 _A HUGE thank you to those who has followed, favourited or/and especially reviewed! I'm really, really glad you like my characterisation, because that's maybe the single most important thing for me when I write fanfic, and I hope I will continue to do them all justice in the chapters to come._

 _Next chapter will bring a lot more dialogue than this very description-heavy one, the beginning of something resembling plot, and more of both Merlin and Arthur._


	3. Inhibition

_**Chapter Three: Inhibition**_

* * *

 _Sounds, as if they were very far away._

" _Merlin?"_

" _Yes." His mouth moved._

" _Tell me about the Prince, Merlin."_

" _The Prince."_

" _Yes. Tell me about Arthur."_

" _Arthur." He sneezed. "My King."_

" _Yes. Tell me about your King."_

 _Silence._

" _Speak, sorcerer!"_

 _A whimper. It came from him._

" _Why isn't he talking, Gaius? You said this would make him willing to talk."_

" _I - I'm not entirely sure, Sire. May I..?"_

 _A shuffling sound. Rustling of clothes._

 _Someone touched_

" _I cannot find anything… wrong, Sire. It might be possible… that he has enough left of his consciousness not to trust you. Might I suggest someone else, perhaps… ask the questions?"_

 _A tense silence._

" _Someone he trusts, you mean."_

" _I - Sire, I wouldn't go that far, no, but someone he might not fear, perhaps…"_

" _Because I very much hope, Gaius, that you're not suggesting that he believes someone to be on his side." The voice was cold._

" _Not at all, my lord."_

" _You're not lying to me now, Gaius, are you? Because if you are, if you've been_ hiding this sorcerer _from me..."_

" _I swear to you now, Sire, as I did before - I was just as shocked as you were, as horrified to hear -"_

" _If you've been lying to me, you'll burn alongside him."_

" _I would expect nothing else, Sire."_

 _Silence._

" _Very well. You ask the questions then, Gaius. He might answer you."_

" _...as you wish, Sire."_

 _Something felt as if it was burning._

 _It was his chest._

 _The fire stole all his air._

" _What's happening? Gaius?"_

" _I - it seems he's reacting badly to the smoke - Sir Montague, if you would -"_

 _The fire grew hotter._

 _It was everywhere._

 _Someone screamed._

 _It was him._

* * *

 _Some Time After The Incident_

"Merlin?"

That was his name.

"Don't fall asleep, now... Merlin? Can you hear me?"

He could.

His throat felt as if something had _clawed_ its way down, and he had a metallic taste in his mouth - _blood,_ he thought with sudden clarity - and there was something else - a smell of something burnt, something unclean and nauseating, and he knew he never, ever wanted to smell that again.

"Merlin." Someone slapped him lightly on his cheek. He opened his mouth to protest, but his lungs decided to start turning themselves inside out with coughs instead. It felt like it would never stop - he wasn't getting any _air -_ then someone held a thin, wet cloth over his mouth and he began to weakly fight it off - until he drew a hacking breath through the cloth and found the coolness soothed his burned lungs, and instead began to cling to it as a lifeline. Breathing in. Out. In. Out.

He must have passed out, before. He couldn't quite remember, at the moment - he was busy breathing.

"Is he ready? Can we try again?"

With a sharp jolt of _something_ \- fear? Panic? - he recognised the voice as that of the king, and he tried to pull away - but the warm hand on his shoulder and mouth held him steady with, what it seemed, embarrassingly little effort. _No - no, he wasn't ready, whatever he meant, he wasn't ready, no -_

"I believe so, Sire", said Gaius' voice, still holding the cool cloth that permitted him to draw breath over his mouth.

Merlin twisted to the side, trying to clear his vision - everything was _blurry_ and he wasn't _ready Gaius no he did not want to go back_ \- and Gaius must have seen something in his face, because the old man looked as if he aged years the instant their eyes met. And Merlin tried to remember he _had_ to keep quiet for Gaius' sake, he _had_ to protect him, _he still could protect him,_ but it was _hard_ not to blame him, _hard_ to keep his magic down, to not lash out, because he still wasn't entirely sure what was going on but he _knew_ he _wouldn't_ hurt Gaius, as his mentor substituted the wet cloth with the slightly smoking bowl Merlin now was conscious enough to connect with the rawness of his throat and the twisting in his guts.

He had time to whisper: " _No"_ , and then the fog returned.

Dancing, gleaming eyes, like his looked when he used magic, that twisted in the mist until they burned out like the logs in Arthur's fireplace - dark cloaks, wandering over cobblestones, swirling up dust and bad omens - fuzzy voices, threatening, promising,

Through the haze, he felt someone letting go of his arm, and he must have fallen, because he was fairly sure that the cold, hard surface against his cheek was the floor.

"Merlin?" someone asked.

"Yeah?" he murmured automatically. His lips felt weird. Stiff. But Arthur had used to say _Answer me when I talk to you, you idiot_ , when Merlin first had come to Camelot.

"Tell me about your magic."

"I shouldn't", he said immediately, fighting against the odd feeling in his mouth. His mother had used to say _Remember, Merlin, this is something you can show only me, do you understand?_ when he grew up. "'s a secret."

"I know. You don't have to hide it from me."

"Have t' hide it from ev'ryone", he argued. He did. Everyone. No one could know.

"Even Arthur?" Another voice, sharper, louder. Merlin didn't like it.

He felt sad at that, though. "...yeah." Even from Arthur.

"How long have you hidden it from Arthur?" The sharp voice, still.

His tongue was heavier than usual, too. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. "All m'life."

"Ever since you came to Camelot?"

"All m'life", he repeated, annoyed. Didn't they listen?

"Is that possible? Being born with magic?"

At the same time as Merlin answered, still annoyed, " _Yes_ ", the first voice said, "I think it might be, Sire". _Oh. They hadn't been talking to him._

Did that mean he could sleep, now? He really was very tired. And maybe his mouth would feel normal again when he woke up. And maybe his lungs wouldn't hurt so bad. He coughed, and immediately wished he hadn't.

"When did you first put your curse on Arthur?"

 _Curse?_ "No curse," he mumbled.

"Hold the bowl closer to him", the sharp voice said, sounding impatient.

"My lord, I don't think that's wise -"

" _Do it_."

Something tingled in his nose. He coughed again. Drawing breath was painful.

"When did you first curse Arthur, sorcerer?"

They were still talking to him, weren't they? "No."

"No? No what?"

"No sorc'rer", he clarified. Warlock, not sorcerer. And no curse.

"This isn't working", someone muttered. Merlin was inclined to agree. Whatever _this_ was, it definitely didn't feel like something that was working.

"The curse, when did you put Arthur under the curse?" Impatient.

"No curse."

"Spell, then! It does not matter what you call it, _when_ did you first _use magic on Arthur_!"

First time? "Years ago." It was hard to remember now - everything was still wrapped in that fog and it was a long time ago, after all. He wasn't even sure when he'd done it the first time. No - wait - he remembered. Arthur had been ill. " _Þurhhæle_ ", he whispered, feeling the familiar tingling behind his eyes. Yes, that was what he had said. It hadn't worked, then.

Someone gave a small cry of alarm.

"What did he do?" The sharp voice sounded angry. "Gaius? _What did he do?_ "

"That was a healing spell, my lord, and I don't think he cast it as much as remembered it - as an answer to your question, would be my guess."

"He cast _healing_ magic on the prince?" Someone sounded doubting.

"You forget, Sir Montague," said the sharp voice, "that he considers Arthur his King, and would use him for his own purposes. It serves his purpose, then, to keep him alive."

"Of course, Sire."

The sharp voice was louder now. "And the control? When did you begin taking control over the Prince?"

That made no sense whatsoever, so he assumed the sharp voice was still talking to someone else.

The kick in his ribs probably wasn't very hard, but the following coughing made him double up, wheezingly curl in on himself. Something was _definitely_ not right, and he wished he could figure out what it was. He wished they would go away, so he could sleep.

"Sire, please, that doesn't help -"

"Answer me! When did you take control over Arthur?"

The coughs made his throat burn, and he could only rasp out: "No - no", because _he hadn't_. He _wouldn't_. He wasn't even sure he _could_ , now when he thought about it.

There was silence for a while - blessed silence, only interrupted whenever he couldn't hold back his coughing.

"Throw him back into his cell", the sharp voice then said in disgust. "Let him sleep it off. These herbs of yours clearly aren't working, Gaius - we will try something else. And I want two guards watching him day and night, should he try something _magical_ again."

Two voices chorused: "Yes, Sire", his face briefly left the hard surface underneath him, and then it was back.

He thought he heard the voices keep talking as they left, but he didn't take note.

As soon as he stopped coughing, he thought, he would sleep. He looked forward to that.

* * *

 _Day Six_

There was a soft knock.

It was unneccessary, after the ruckus of removing the heavy wooden beam and unlocking the door first - but all the same, Arthur appreciated the gesture. It _was_ still his chambers, and he should be allowed to admit or refuse anyone he liked.

"Enter", he called. He stood by his window again, looking out over the courtyard for lack of anything else to do, thoroughly bored out of his mind. There was nothing to do. Nothing to look at he hadn't already seen a hundred times. There was no news, nothing to occupy his hands or his mind. However, he _also_ felt it was probably very disrespectful to be bored. His father, spent most of the hours of every day in search of a way to free him. He should be grateful. Bear his imprisonment with grace, patience and fortitude.

He was good with fortitude, generally - less so with grace and patience.

The door slid open, barely two feet, and Arthur caught a glimpse of a lilac dress out of the corner of his eye.

"Guinevere" Arthur said in surprise, and turned. "How…?"

She smiled slightly - _fie_ , wasn't it nice to see someone smile - and he couldn't help but smile back. She raised the tray she carried slightly in explanation. "They didn't want to let me in at first", something Arthur had known already, "but they couldn't argue that someone should bring the dishes down to the kitchen, and when I was already here… And - and I thought you might like some company", she added, a little more hesitantly.

"I would", Arthur blurted, far too quickly, and then cursed himself for not being able to keep it together. But yes. He really, _really_ would.

At least Guinevere looked happy with the answer. She sat the tray down on the table with a loud _clang_ and then blushed at the noise, clearing her throat slightly in embarrassment in the way that made Arthur want to tilt her chin up and kiss her and never stop. "Well then. What shall we talk about?"

Arthur shook his head to clear it - and to stop himself from suggesting they might do other things with their mouths that did not require talking. "Uhm."

 _Very eloquent, Arthur_ , said an internal voice that sounded far too much like Merlin. The heavy weight in his stomach returned with an almost physical force, and he felt much less romantically inclined.

He turned away from Guinevere with the pretense of taking a seat at the table and adjusting the chair so he faced her, while he composed himself. "Are - is there any news?" Then he remembered his manners and shot out of his chair, gesturing at another one across the table. "Oh - please! You should sit. Please."

Guinevere ignored his wild gesturing - _probably for the best, he must have looked a fool_ \- and took a seat in the chair next to him instead, _so close they were almost touching_ , looking at him with sad eyes that saw far too much.

"Not much news at all, recently", she said softly, completely ignoring the fact that Arthur _could_ have meant that as a _general_ comment on the state of _general..._ things. "No one is allowed down there, save the knights on guard, so no one really knows anything."

"Knights on guard? Who?" Substituting the normal palace guards for knights wasn't unheard of, but it was rare.

"I'm not sure, sorry - I think Sir Leon and Sir Montague were with the King down there yesterday, but I don't know who is there now."

His first thought was that it was good to have them both there - Leon could keep Montague in check if he got too zealous in his duties to protect the kingdom from magic. Leon wouldn't stand for any unneccessary cruelty, not even against sorcerers.

His second thought was that he never would have thought such a thing three years ago Protecting the kingdom against sorcery must be prioritised. He must remember that. He must keep the curse at bay. He must _fight it_.

With great effort, he kept his face still and his voice even. "And my father?"

"In the library, I believe." She looked sympathetic. "I don't think he ever really sleeps more than a few hours at a time anymore, he spends all his time there with Gaius and Geoffrey."

"He's a good father", Arthur said, and then wondered why he had felt the need to say that.

Guinevere didn't seem to find the statement odd, merely _hmm_ ed her agreement. "It's taken a heavy toll on Gaius, though", she confided, and then instantly looked as if she wanted to take her statement back. "Not that it hasn't on His Majesty! I just meant -"

"Don't worry, I know what you meant", Arthur reassured. He hadn't seen either his father or Gaius today - whatever they had done yesterday, they must be convinced it couldn't have worked, otherwise Gaius would have been here to test his blood again. "Of course he takes it… hard."

 _Understatement_. The man looked ten years older.

"I've been trying to assist him in any way I can." She plucked at a loose thread in her sleeve seam. "I've taken over a few of his patients, the ones with simpler ailments, because he's so very busy, and I'm - well, I'm not."

She smiled, a self-deprecating smile. Arthur was once again reminded how much pride she had taken in being Morgana's handmaiden, and realised that without his promise all that time ago, after her father's death ( _execution_ ), that she would never have to fear for work, she would probably have been told to leave. Instead, it seemed she was helping whoever let her, making herself useful wherever she could. How very _her_ that seemed, and how much she must loathe not having a purpose, she who had always had one.

"I'm sure you're being a great help. And comfort", he added quickly, and was rewarded with a smaller, but more genuine smile in his direction. "Is there talk, around the castle? About what's really going on?" he said then, to change the subject from the one they'd had which had hurt her.

She frowned. "There are... rumours, of course, there always are, but none that seem to be credible. They all know you're staying in your chambers for your own protection, but they don't really know any details about… the imprisonment. Or what's been found out from all the hours spent in the library."

She looked at him as if he might want to either fill her in on what rumours _he_ had heard (none, save those his own imagination gave him) or possibly on what he actually knew to be true. Neither appealed, but he grudgingly admitted, "They've tried some… herbs. Things. Truth potions and the like, I guess."

Guinevere looked uncomfortable. Arthur couldn't blame her.

"It hasn't… worked, then?" she asked after a second of silence. "You still don't feel like yourself?"

He sighed, taking her hand - to comfort her, he told himself. "It doesn't work that way, Guinevere. I still _feel_ like myself, but that's because I don't know what I really feel like. If that makes sense", he added, seeing her doubtful look. "I'm not myself - but I don't know which _parts_ aren't, because we don't know yet what the curse does, so I don't know what to look for. I don't know which thoughts are mine… and which aren't."

She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand, distractedly and without thinking about it, staring at a stray goblet laying on its side on the table before them. His skin came alive where she touched him. "It sounds awful", she whispered.

Normally, he would have said something like _Well, I've had worse_ or _If you think this is bad, you should have seen Merlin's attempts to spar earlier_ or _It isn't that bad, cheer up, Guinevere_.

But this wasn't, in any shape or form, a _normal_ situation.

So he just whispered, "Yeah", and held her hand tighter.

"I just can't believe _Merlin_ would…"

"I know."

"But you do believe it, though, don't you?"

Arthur forced the word out. "Yes."

 _He did. Didn't he?_

"Did you really hear him say it?" Guinevere looked up at him, and he wasn't surprised to see she was going to cry, if she hadn't begun already. He didn't blame her for that either. "Did you really, Arthur, because that's what everyone is saying - that you heard him confess to - to…"

She trailed off again.

He swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat and told it to _stay down damn it_. "They called me his _pet king_."

Guinevere's tears spilled over.

Arthur gave her his handkerchief and let her cry.

He didn't know how to make it better, damn it all, so he wouldn't even try.

* * *

 _The first time his father had come, he hadn't stayed longer than a few minutes. Arthur could not report feeling any different, even though his father asked three times. Nothing to report from his father either, no news at all. Arthur had nodded graciously, thanked for the information even though there hadn't been any, and had been grateful when his father left._

 _Back then, he hadn't wanted to see anyone._

 _The next time, the day after, he'd stayed a bit longer, upon Arthur's invitation. They'd taken luncheon together and talked about nothings, even begun a game of chess before Uther proclaimed he had to leave. Uther had asked twice, whether he really felt no different. Arthur had had a lot of time to think, really try to feel something, but he couldn't. So his father left._

 _The day after that, it had been Arthur who had breached the subject and wondered what news of the_ sorcerer _. Uther had waved his hand and said Arthur shouldn't worry. He'd asked once if Arthur felt no different, and Arthur had said that he didn't._

 _That night, Arthur dreamt of stone walls closing in on him until he couldn't breathe, and he woke drenched in sweat with his heart beating as if it was ready to leap out of his chest._

* * *

 _Some Time After The Incident_

It was his bladder which woke him - and he was actually really grateful for that, because considering what little he remembered from the last time he'd been awake, and how out of it he'd been, he could just as well have had to suffer through waking up to the unpleasant news that he had relieved himself in his sleep, on top of everything else.

Feeling both thoroughly humiliated and very, very angry, Merlin unsteadily rose to his feet and stumbled over to the corner with the bucket placed there for his convenience. _This had gone too far - way too far._ He almost thought _this isn't fun anymore_ , but since none of it had been fun at any point, really, that felt too childish. He deliberately chose not to face the blurry shapes with Camelot red cloaks sitting on the other side of the metal bars - seemed as if he wasn't completely back to normal then, if he had trouble focusing on that short a distance - because _honestly_ , those men couldn't take any more pleasure in seeing him take a piss than Merlin did having to do it in front of them.

He didn't remember all that had happened during the delirium that had been forced upon him, but he thought he remembered enough.

He remembered denying cursing Arthur - that was good. Otherwise, he might never have woken up, or maybe have woken up being led to the pyre.

He remembered admitting to using magic on him though - and that was less good. Nothing much to be done about that now, though. And it had been true.

He remembered Gaius' helpless look as he'd tried to escape the smoke. Remembered having been too weak to force his hands off of him.

And, with a strong sense of betrayal, he remembered how Gaius had pushed the smoking herbs closer anyway.

There was a new bowl of water left in the cell for him, at least, and some bread and an apple. As he fumbled with buttoning his trousers again with his apparently very cold fingers, still studiously ignoring the two on guard, he decided to eat, drink and wake up properly, before blasting a hole in the prison wall, stomping out, throwing aside everyone who tried to cross his path, and yelling for Arthur to for _fuck's sake_ start talking to him or so help him, because he was _done_ playing along.

Maybe food and water would calm him down enough to change his mind. Just now, he rather doubted it.

He'd only drunk half of the water and bitten into the apple twice, barely enough to discover he felt positively starving, when the door to his - no, _fie_ he would not allow him to think that, not his, he meant _this_ \- corridor with cells opened.

Merlin almost groaned in exasperation. _Would he_ ever _get one_ moment _of consciousness to eat in peace?_ One of the still slightly blurry shapes, Sir Gregory, turned his head, then made… a face. Of some sort. Then rose to his feet. The other red cloak - Sir Leon, Merlin now saw - did likewise. (He very briefly wondered whether Sir Leon felt uncomfortable, guarding him. Just three weeks ago, they'd been gutting a rabbit together beside the fire and shared a waterskin of ale with Arthur.) Someone was coming.

Merlin was surprised to find his first instinct was fear, and that, too, made him angry. He hadn't ever feared Uther Pendragon. He'd held a certain _wariness_ for him - a healthy one for someone in his own situation, Merlin thought personally - and he'd pitied him on more than one occasion, but he'd never feared him. He was _not_ about to start now.

His second instinct was a wistfulness, a sense of regret over something that hadn't happened yet, but might happen now. He didn't _want_ to use magic on Uther, but he was _through_ being treated as the King's personal experiment. He would not be mistreated anymore. He would not put up with it.

And if that would ruin every chance to explain things to Arthur - and even through his fury, that thought really, _really_ hurt - he'd have to fix it some other way. He'd think of something.

But there was only one set of footsteps - Uther hadn't come alone before, he'd always had guards for protection with him.

Merlin's heart began beating faster.

 _Maybe - just maybe -_

But no.

It wasn't Arthur.

The disappointment rose as bitter bile in his mouth.

"Gaius", Leon said in mild surprise as the old man reached them. "Can we assist you in any way?"

Merlin stared, willing Gaius to _look at him_ , give some sign, let him in on the _real_ reason he was there that the knights couldn't hear, willed him to _beg him for forgiveness_ , but Gaius looked straight at Leon and Gregory, ignoring him. _Why had he come? To drug him again?_ No, that couldn't be it, Uther would have come too. _With a message from Arthur?_ But he couldn't say anything when the guards would be able to hear…

"I'm here to administer the next dosage of the magic inhibitor", Gaius said, and this time he actually glanced quickly at Merlin, his face impassive, before looking at the knights again. "Once a day."

 _Wait. No. Inhibitor?_

Merlin frantically felt after his magic - but no, it was there, he could reach it, if he wanted to use it, he could, he was alright -

"Of course", said Sir Gregory. "Do you require our… help?" He lowered his voice - rather pointless, Merlin thought annoyed, since he was only a couple of meters away and still would be able hear them clearly. Still, _their help_ suggested more forcing him to do things he probably wouldn't like...

"No, that's alright", he spoke up with a hard tone in his voice he didn't recognise as his, and both knights visibly started in surprise. His voice was coarse and uncomfortable to use, and he suddenly remembered coughing until he believed his lungs would burst, until he didn't get any air, until the spit in his mouth tasted metallic and hot. "I don't think I want any."

Sir Gregory swelled with indignation. "You will speak when spoken to, _sorcerer_ -"

"And how do you propose to stop us?" Gaius interrupted, all his attention suddenly on Merlin. "Considering you have no magic to use."

Merlin was suddenly _furious_. Before he knew what he was doing, he was holding the bars hard enough to make his knuckles whiten, and he ignored the alarm in Sir Leon's voice as he said "Take a step back!".

"Oh I don't, don't I? We'll see -" and then he broke off as his brain caught up with his mouth, and with the way Gaius _stared_ at him the way when he sometimes _should_ understand something but he hadn't so far -

He could still reach his magic.

Gregory and Leon clearly believed he couldn't.

... _oh._

He snapped his mouth shut.

"It isn't unusual to feel unbalanced if one is used to sensing one's magic and then _suddenly_ realises one doesn't", Gaius offered as a means of explanation to Leon and Gregory, still not taking his eyes off of Merlin.

Merlin stared back.

Then he said: "What have you done with my magic?" The words sounded awkward, tense, to his ears, and they held an uncertain, vulnerable note he was sure didn't go unnoticed by Leon, at least - but it could probably be attributed to confusion over having been stripped of his magic. Gaius eyes softened in relief for a split second, before his impassive mask was back.

Merlin could have wept. His hands relaxed their compulsive grip on the iron bars on their own volition.

 _Gaius hadn't abandoned him. Gaius was on his side._

 _He wasn't alone_.

"You're merely not able to reach it at the moment. It's not gone, but it allows the King to imprison you without risk."

Merlin nodded slowly. He understood what Gaius was telling him. _No one knows you still have magic. Be careful._

"And you're here to give me the next dose. Or force me to take it, if necessary."

Merlin noticed Leon actually did look slightly uncomfortable. For some reason, that made him feel stronger than he had just now. _He could do this_.

"I am. Though I'd much prefer if you took it willingly."

And now up close, when he was looking right at him, Merlin saw how tired, how _sad_ Gaius looked.

 _He'd_ made him look that way. He'd made it so much harder on his mentor than he'd had to - he'd been weak when he should have been strong, acted like a scared _child_ when he should have been standing up for his mistake, thought of something, taken charge of the mess they were in. He'd fought Gaius, when he should have been coming up with ways to fight Uther, to mend things with Arthur, to _fix_ things.

"I don't have much choice in the matter, do I?" he asked, as gently as he thought he could risk with the two knights listening to every word.

When Gaius held out the small bottle, he took it with only very little hesitation, distantly noting his hand still shook slightly.

He looked Gaius in the eyes as he lifted it to his lips.

Looking for… yes, what? Deception? That Gaius _really_ was on Uther's side, that this wasn't the harmless concoction Gaius wordlessly tried to convey to Merlin that it was, that it was yet another drug that would knock him out, make him see things that weren't there, make him _helpless_ again?

The knot in his stomach didn't let up. He felt guilty that it didn't.

He drank it anyway.

Both Leon and Gregory visibly relaxed. Gaius merely sighed.

"Sir Gregory", Gaius said, turning slightly, "I wonder - now when it's completely safe again - whether I might ask a favour. I should like a more thorough examination of the sorcerer" - and if Gaius hesitated before calling Merlin _the sorcerer_ , Merlin at least didn't notice - "now that he's awake. Possibly I might find a clue as to how to break the curse, if I had the book I was using for research just now in the library - but I'm afraid I forgot it."

"I'll send a servant", Gregory muttered with a sharp glance at Merlin, clearly unwilling to leave.

"No servant will be admitted into the library for a book on magic", Gaius said in a reproachful tone of voice, as if Gregory should have known better. "A Knight of Camelot, on the other hand, can be trusted with such dangerous material. It is quite safe here now, I assure you, and it would be of help to the King."

Gregory still looked unwilling, but Leon nodded his head briefly and said, "Go. I'll stay", which apparently reassured Gregory enough to stride away through the corridor, closing the door behind him as he left.

As the tension drained away from Merlin's body, so apparently did the strength which follows first humiliation and fury, and then adrenaline. Surprised with the way his knees just simply gave way, he sat down heavily on the straw-covered floor of his cell, trying to preserve the last of his dignity - and failing miserably, groaning with disappointment when he found he'd sat down on the piece of bread. "Damn it", he mumbled, pulling it out from underneath him, plucking a few pieces of straw from the crumbs. It was probably edible - he supposed. Wearily, he looked up towards Leon and Gaius, who both stared at him - Leon with his brows furrowed in slight confusion, Gaius looking worried but as if he tried to hide it.

"What is that?" Gaius asked, and his tone was sharper than it probably should be.

Merlin glared - both because Gaius couldn't _possibly_ not know, and because he _wasn't allowed_ to sound worried about him while Leon was there, not now, not when they'd gotten this far.

"I believe it used to be bread", he said sarcastically. Mournfully, he removed another straw.

"And why haven't you eaten it already?"

Merlin glared harder. If one could do that.

"Because I don't usually eat while unconscious. Pretty sure that's even dangerous."

"Were you not hungry when you woke up?" Gaius continued his interrogation in the _physician_ -voice Merlin knew very well.

"I was. I am", he corrected himself, and his stomach rumbled loudly just in time to emphasise his point. "Considering that was just now. I don't suppose there might be something more to eat?" he added hopefully, barely daring to look at Leon. "This" - he waved the bread a little in the air, and a piece of it broke off, "- looks a bit… sad."

Leon stared in silence for a few seconds. It was impossible to see what he felt, or was thinking. Merlin had gotten to know him pretty well these past few months, especially during the searches for Morgana when they'd been out in the wilderness for weeks on end, sometimes, but Leon usually lightened up a little when they got outside of the Camelot walls. This was Sir Leon, Knight of Camelot, not the man Merlin had started a tentative friendship with.

Then: "I'll go see what I can find", Leon said. "You'll be alright for a few minutes?" he asked, looking at Gaius.

Gaius nodded, just slightly too quickly, and then smoothed it over by saying; "Yes, yes, of course. It's perfectly safe now, I'll be fine until you or Gregory are back."

Leon took one last look at first Merlin, who almost held his breath in anticipation, and then Gaius. Then he nodded respectfully towards the physician, and left the same way Gregory had done.

* * *

 _Þurhhæle_ = heal, make well.

* * *

 _A/N: Aaand cut, because this chapter was getting way too long. (I read somewhere most published novel chapters are around 4500 words in length, so that's what I'm aiming for, and this was already at a thousand above that.) I apologise for promising plot and then not delivering - apparently that has to wait until chapter 4._

 _Gregory isn't mine either - he's featured in two episodes in s1._

 _Thank you for all reviews, they're fantastic for inspiration!_

 _mersan123: In a way, I'm also ashamed for Gaius. In another, I pity him. He's stood by watching magical people being hurt before, because he thought it was right. I think he's thinking this is similar - and justifiable, since Merlin technically hasn't been hurt. As you said, though - hasn't been hurt_ yet _._

 _Gingeraffaleane and 1917farmgirl: Thank you! Not going to fix this any time soon, but I don't think you mind :)_


	4. A Cure for Curses

_**Chapter Four: A Cure for Curses**_

* * *

 _Some Time After The Incident_

"Did you do that on purpose?" Gaius immediately asked as soon as they heard the _clang_ of Leon shutting the door in the other end of the corridor.

"Did what on purpose?" Merlin asked bewildered. That had _not_ been the question he had anticipated getting..

"Send Leon away by destroying the food you had. That was very clever of you, if slightly risky - what if he hadn't agreed to get you more?"

"What do - _no_ , I didn't do it on purpose", Merlin protested. "It just… happened."

Gaius' eyes softened, and he dragged one of the guard chairs up towards the bars, sitting down so close they could touch each other through the metal rods, if they had wanted to. Merlin could smell his robes - they smelled like his workshop, like beeswax, thyme, dust and iron.

They smelled like home.

"Finish the apple, at least", Gaius said suddenly, but with a soft voice. "Until Leon comes back. If you didn't wake up until now… you'll need it."

"Oh." Merlin pulled himself out of his pensiveness, and picked up the fruit he'd dropped when Gaius came in. "Yeah."

He took a small bite, but had lost his appetite, despite being ravenous. He didn't understand why looking at Gaius felt difficult now when it had been all he wanted a moment ago. Why he wanted to back up, until Gaius wasn't that _close_ to him, until he couldn't be touched. Why he felt the urge to yell for Gaius to _leave him alone_ even though he really, _really_ didn't want to be left alone.

"Merlin", Gaius said slowly. Merlin didn't look up from his apple. Then he felt childish again, and forced himself to raise his head, to look Gaius in the eyes. The old man's eyes were strangely bright, and immediately, Merlin's fury was back. He clenched his teeth to try to keep it from showing, but suspected it was no use. _He had no right. He had_ no right _to cry - not when Merlin had been abused, left as if for dead, imprisoned, hurt, while Gaius wandered around free of suspicion, free of fear above ground -_

"Merlin, I am so, so sorry."

"'s fine", he muttered automatically, looking away again, because he still felt the anger bubbling, brewing _so close_ to the surface that if he just _scratched_ it, he might explode.

"No, it's not. And I understand why you're angry with me. I did what I thought was right and -" Gaius took a deep, shaking breath that almost made Merlin look up before he _willed_ himself to be still "- and I was wrong. I should _never_ have subjected you to any of this, I should never have taken part. I was a foolish old man, hoping to protect you, but… I didn't."

He fell silent.

Merlin tried to hold on to his anger, because feeling angry felt _good,_ it felt _right_ \- but inevitably, it drained away, slipped off of him, and then he was only empty.

"Yes, you did", he said wearily, looking up towards Gaius, ashamed to see his eyes still bright with unshed tears. "I wouldn't be alive if you hadn't protected me. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise to me." Gaius sadly shook his head. "I've put my own safety above yours -"

"No,you haven't", Merlin interrupted, forcing down the cough that once again wanted to break through, but which would hurt Gaius to hear if he let out. "Maybe above my comfort, because I'm not going to pretend I like it here, really", he added drily and took another bite of the apple (he really _was_ starving, possibly literally), "but not above my safety. Speaking of that, how did you manage to convince Uther I don't have my magic?"

Gaius looked grateful for the change of subject. "During the Purge, several sorcerers that were caught lost their ability to do magic during their imprisonments - out of physical weakness, helplessness and hopelessness, I suspect. I would occasionally assist in the only way I felt I could. By allowing the King to believe I'd robbed them of their magic through inhibiting concoctions, he'd allow them the quick death of the executioner's axe, instead of sending them to the pyre."

Merlin heard the self-loathing in Gaius' voice clearly, but didn't say anything.

He couldn't - _shouldn't -_ judge Gaius' actions during the Purge, because he hadn't been there, he hadn't felt the terror himself - but at the same time, he didn't have it in him to tell Gaius it was fine, that he'd done all he could, either, because these were _people's lives_. And each and every one of them had mattered to someone.

When Merlin apparently wasn't going to speak, Gaius continued quietly: "I believed Uther would allow us a few more days of research on the curse if he thought you harmless. It would give you time to come up with a plan on what to do."

"A plan?" Merlin asked slowly. "No - wait - a few more _days?_ Shouldn't I be getting out of here?"

"Is that what you want?"

Merlin felt dumbfounded. " _Yes_ \- I mean - should it not be? I'm not doing anyone any good here getting drugged, hallucinating and constantly passing out! Arthur hasn't even come to see me once! This clearly isn't working, Gaius!"

"If you want to escape, I will assist you in any way you'd want", Gaius said calmly, never taking his eyes off Merlin and sitting up straighter on his chair.

"Wait - no, that's not what I mean, Gaius - you must keep your cover -"

"Keeping my cover isn't nearly as important as you are. I told you, I've been foolish. A weak, frightened old man. I will not abandon you again."

"So all you've done so far will have been for nothing, then?" Merlin asked with far more bitterness in his voice than he would have liked. "No. I can escape on my own if I really need to. You should stay out of it."

Gaius was silent for a second. "If you wish. I will not interfere if you don't want me to. But yes, Merlin, you do have time - at least another day, probably more, if you'd like to stay and think on what to do. Uther will be occupied in the library for at least that long, looking for a way to break the curse."

"He won't find anything", Merlin said, in sudden desperation to explain himself. "Gaius, I have no idea why Arthur's blood would react that way - I haven't used magic on him for ages - well, not long-lasting spells at least -"

"I know", Gaius said, sounding alarmed at Merlin's insistence. "But he will be looking nonetheless. So, _if you want it_ , you have time, before you have to choose."

Merlin didn't answer. He took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Almost nothing left. Good thing Leon would come back with more food.

Could he stay? Could he _bear_ it? He wanted nothing more than to get out of this stinking, dark, damp place - but blasting the cell door open in an open display of magic (because he'd never been very good with the more discreet unlocking spells, and he should really have practiced them more when he had had the time) to go in search for Arthur didn't really seem like a brilliant plan either. Arthur didn't do loss of control very well - he was used to being the one making the decisions. He should be the one to come to Merlin, not the other way around - it would be easier for him to listen, if he'd decided that was what he was going to do - and then forgive. Maybe. If he was ever going to come.

"Why hasn't Arthur been to see me?" he asked then, wondering why that hadn't been his first question. "Does he… does he hate me that much?"

Gaius slowly shook his head. "Arthur is… conflicted."

Something in Merlin he hadn't believed still was there surged - a small light, a featherlight sensation. _Hope_. Conflicted? He could work with conflicted. That wasn't _Yes, he hates you and wishes to see you dead_ , nor _He couldn't care less what happens to you,_ nor _He's decided he never wants to see you again._

"But -" Gaius continued, but cut himself short when the door further down the corridor opened again.

He quickly turned to Merlin, urgency in his barely whispering voice. "He can't come, he's locked in."

Wait. _What?_

"Locked in?" Merlin breathed. "Where? _Why?_ Is he in danger?"

Gaius merely shook his head in answer. _Was that a "No, he isn't in danger", or a "I can't say anything else now?"_ Merlin couldn't tell, even as he stared at Gaius, looking for the slightest clue in his expression.

"We're done here, I think", Gaius then said in a normal tone of voice for Sir Leon's sake, and Merlin could have _hit him_ for leaving it there, but forced himself to calm down. He _knew_ Gaius couldn't say anything else, he _knew_ it, but _fie_ he was tired of being left in the dark. Something of his murderous reaction to having been left hanging must have shown in the face, though, because Leon looked wary when he sat the tray he had been carrying down on the small table.

"What about the book you're waiting for, Gaius?" Leon asked politely. "Don't you wish to wait until Gregory is back?"

Gaius rose slowly. "I don't think it will be of use to me anymore, not after this… examination", he offered. He looked tired again. "I will apologise to Sir Gregory when I next see him, I rather suspect I will meet him on the way. I will be back tomorrow with the next dose of the inhibitor."

Leon nodded his respect, and Gaius turned to leave.

Merlin instantly felt very cold. Confused. _And very lonely._

"Gaius!" he called after him, and if he pressed his face against the bars, he could still see him further down the corridor.

Gaius stopped walking, and turned half-way. "Yes, Merlin?" he sighed, looking in every part as an old man disappointed and betrayed by someone he had trusted. Merlin's guts twisted. _It wasn't real_ , he reminded himself. _An act. They had to act_. _Damnit,_ he'd _just told Gaius they had to act - he should know._

Still, he couldn't quite keep his voice steady when he said: "Just… how long have I been here?"

Gaius expression flickered for a brief moment. _Grief? Sadness? Anger? Guilt?_ "A week, tomorrow."

And he left.

 _A week tomorrow_.

Merlin felt almost faint. And during those six days, he'd been awake… three times, now? Four? A total of four or five hours, at the most? Another thought struck him.

He looked up towards Leon instead. "And… what time is it now?"

He didn't know what he looked like, but Leon's wary expression gave way to one of something like... pity. Merlin didn't like it.

"Late afternoon", Leon said, with that _frustratingly_ neutral voice he had perfected.

"Alright", Merlin whispered.

The world had started spinning slowly again. His first thought, to his great shame, was a panicky _fear_ , mostly sensation and little thought, that Gaius had put something in the tonic he'd been given - but as soon as he got hold of the thought, he rejected it - _Gaius would_ never _do that if he had the choice, he was still his friend, his family_. He was merely disoriented, confused. He hadn't eaten anything for a very long time ( _a very long time_ ) and drunk very little. It made sense, if his body didn't quite work as usual.

"Alright", he said again, loud enough that the hoarseness of his voice was audible, not knowing why he said it but feeling he needed to say _something_ to interrupt his tumbling, spinning, unsettled thoughts.

Leon had mercy on him. "There's food, if you'd like it." He wasn't friendly, but he wasn't hostile either - which he would have every excuse to be, really. It wasn't much, but Merlin would take what he got.

The food on the tray looked good. There was new bread - uncrushed - as well as cheese, and something from a bowl which steamed slightly and smelled of rosemary. "Thanks", he whispered.

 _Late afternoon._

 _A week._

Then he scrambled across the floor to his - _the_ \- bucket in the corner and threw up bile and small apple pieces.

* * *

 _Day Seven_

Arthur sat by his table, sprawled in one chair, picking at his breakfast. It wasn't bad, and there was a lot of it, but he had no appetite.

The thoughts of Merlin stuck in a cold, damp dungeon cell reappeared with frightening regularity, but he was getting better at seeing them for what they were. Parts of the curse, nothing else. It wasn't his duty to worry about his former servant, and the only reason he did so was because Merlin had forced him to. He shouldn't. So he didn't.

It was almost time for Gaius' daily check up - he'd been in almost every day, just as his father had, testing his blood with the crystal, mumbling about how Arthur _should try to keep his spirits up,_ to which Arthur always replied that he _was_ in good spirits, thank you, and how _possibly, with supervision of course, a visit to the training grounds might do him some good_ , which Arthur always flat out refused.

He was staying. He'd made his decision. He might be dangerous to others.

He quickly quashed the feeling of _that's not right_ that always resurfaced whenever he thought such things about the curse Merlin had put on him. They simply didn't know enough about it. They had to take precautions.

There was the now familiar scraping noise from the beam being lifted off of the door from the outside. The key turned in the lock - and then, a knock.

Arthur sighed. How come the same action was endearing when Guinevere did it, but enervating when it was someone else? "Enter", he half-yelled, and took another bite of his sausage, so it wouldn't look like he'd been waiting.

"Good morning, Sire", Gaius greeted him solemnly. "Have you had a good night's sleep?"

"Decent enough", Arthur replied, grumpily enough that it probably was audible. He'd been awake until well past midnight, thinking he'd go insane from restlessness if the curse didn't finish him off first, wanting _so badly_ to be let out so he could train, ride his horse, take a walk to the lower town, _anything_ that wasn't _sitting_ or _lying down_ , but knowing he couldn't.

"Might I suggest at least getting some air and sunlight later, Sire?" Gaius looked slightly concerned. "You look a little pale. It would do you good, I believe."

 _And there it was again._

"I've said _no_ , Gaius", Arthur said annoyed. "We _still_ don't know that wouldn't be dangerous. Do we?" he added as an afterthought, and as Gaius started to shake his head, he gave an immediate affirmative nod. "I didn't think so. I'm not going to waste away from lack of sunlight. I'm not a plant."

"Indeed, Sire", Gaius said simply.

"Did you bring the crystal?" Arthur asked, wanting to get this next part _over_ with, and started rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal seven tidy little nicks in various stages of healing on his left forearm. He still wasn't comfortable about the twinkling little rock, especially not _touching_ him, but he wasn't dead so far. It wasn't dangerous. It was just… creepy. "I'm ready if you are, look -" he waved a little in the air with a handkerchief - "I remembered something for the blood and everything."

"If you so wish, Sire, of course we will test your blood again. However, we've spent the entire day yesterday in the library and haven't tried anything else since we last tested it, so I don't believe we'd see any difference." Gaius voice was clear and neutral.

Arthur looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You haven't _tried anything_ since yesterday? An entire _day_ more in the library? Damn it, Gaius, aren't there only _so_ many curses something like this can be?"

"You forget, Sire, that we are working with a somewhat… limited supply of informative books", Gaius said drily. "Not much survived the Great Purge. There might be much out there we know nothing about."

"In which case", Arthur countered angrily, "you should be finished with the library by now and have moved on!"

"To what, exactly?" Gaius said sharply. "Beating the curse out of him?"

Arthur stared.

 _Breaking him forcibly_.

 _Beating the curse out of him._

But no. He _shouldn't_ think of that. He should _force_ those thoughts from his mind. He wasn't supposed to worry. Merlin was evil. He had to remember that. He shouldn't mind.

And yet...

"My apologies, Sire." Gaius swept a hand over his face, taking a seat by the table uninvited - very rare for the old man to breach protocol that way, but Arthur was not about to comment on it. "This past week has been…"

"Don't mention it", Arthur said, feeling uncomfortable. "I… quite understand."

Gaius made a small noise which could have been a chuckle, a sob, a sigh, or something in between.

There was a tense silence.

"I know you've been… fooled, Gaius", Arthur then began, feeling he _had_ to try to make _sense_ of it all and Gaius was his best shot, now that they were already talking, "and I can't say... well, he fooled me too, all of us. And I'm sorry he wasn't who you thought he was." _Oh, had he only been who they thought he was._ "Nevertheless… despite how… _distasteful_ the thought is… should we not try... everything?"

He noticed his voice had become more and more hesitant the longer he talked, and ending in an almost _pleading_ tone.

He just… he didn't know. _He didn't understand_.

What if they _needed_ to _beat the curse out of him_? What then? If there was a _chance…_ should they not take it?

Gaius looked faintly ill. "Sire, I… I've never heard of a curse that works that way."

"With all due respect, Gaius", Arthur said as kindly as he could, while still feeling just as queasy as Gaius looked, "there are things even you don't know."

"Of course there are things I don't know. But I think I'd have heard about something like _torture_ being a cure for curses, if it really was one."

The undertone of horror in Gaius' voice was still there, and the ways his hands shook slightly - in anger? In a failure to overcome his emotions? - spoke of a reaction he couldn't stop even though he tried to hide it. Arthur wasn't the best interpreter of people's emotions in general, but he _knew_ Gaius, and there had been precious little else to do this past week than think. And this - Gaius' actions, Gaius' reactions, Gaius' speech - made no sense. He was one of the most level-headed men Arthur had ever met, completely capable of removing almost all emotion from any given situation, even the most gruesome or personally upsetting. Gaius had been _betrayed_ along with Arthur - his own _ward_ , his own kin, had been hiding something huge, ugly and dangerous, right under his nose, threatening the son of the king he'd served faithfully for decades. And so, if he _would_ be horror struck, it could maybe still be explained - but he should be so by the talk of the _curse_ , not the potential cure for it.

This wasn't right.

He'd seen past it for a full week, but he had _finally_ realised something.

"You don't believe he did it", Arthur said incredulously, but no, that wasn't entirely it, he realised, "- no, you don't even think I _am_ cursed!"

Gaius looked alarmed. "Sire, I didn't say -"

"Bloody hell, Gaius!" Arthur almost yelled. "What more proof do you _need?_ He's admitted it himself! There's _magic_ in my blood! _He's betrayed us all!_ "

His thoughts continued when his throat felt tight - _he's betrayed me, made me look a fool, I thought he -_ before he _refused_ to even continue thinking about it, and threw a goblet standing on the table hard into a wall.

Gaius flinched slightly in surprise at the noise, then sighed deeply. "If there's one thing I've learned, Sire, it is that things are rarely as they seem."

Arthur was speechless for a brief moment. Then he blurted out the first thing to came to mind: "Gaius, you're in denial."

It came out sounding more like a question than he would have liked, but at least he'd said it.

"Am I indeed, Sire." Gaius didn't meet his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure I must be. Will that be all?"

Arthur nodded mutely, not knowing what to say. Or do, for that matter. He probably shouldn't have thrown that goblet. There was ale all over the floor. It wasn't until Gaius had left he remembered they'd forgotten to test his blood again.

He spent the next half hour staring out of the window towards the guards standing in front of the old parts of the castle, carefully trying not to think about anything at all.

* * *

" _Rise before your King!"_

 _A hasty scuffling sound._

" _Sire." Warily._

" _Don't pretend you see me as your king. You were overheard."_

" _I've never said I -"_

" _Do you admit you are a sorcerer?"_

 _A pause._

" _...yes. But that -"_

" _And do you admit putting Prince Arthur under the influence of a controlling curse?"_

" _A… curse?"_

" _There's no use for that. You were overheard in your conversation with the other sorcerer yesterday. Your plans have already failed. You will relinquish your hold over the Prince immediately."_

" _I haven't cursed Arthur!"_

" _There's nowhere to hide from this, sorcerer. His blood has been proven tainted by a crystal used to recognise such effects. Now, this is your last chance. Confess your crime, release the Prince from your curse, or I promise you a slow and very painful death."_

 _Pause._

" _I cannot admit to that, because I have not done it. Where is Ar- the Prince?"_

" _Very well then - if you will not willingly release him, you will be made to. Proceed."_

 _The turn of a heavy key in a slightly rusty lock._

" _\- now hang on just a minute - ow!"_

 _Slight_ thuds _of knees hitting stone._

" _Gaius." An order._

" _\- if I could just -" and then a hiss of pain as holds tightened._

 _No one spoke._

 _Someone sputtering, gagging. Three coughs and then gasping for air._

" _What was that?" Faintly, hoarsely._

 _No one answered._

 _The lock turned in the key again, and four sets of footsteps - one angry set, two marching sets and one slow set - echoed down the corridor._

 _There was silence._

 _For a very, very long time._

* * *

 _Day Seven_

For a place where one could do nothing _but_ think, dungeons really wasn't the best environment to do so.

For one thing - and this seemed rather trivial in the scope of things, but was very annoying nevertheless - there was absolutely no comfortable way to sit. Lying down wasn't much better, and standing up just felt desperate.

For another, he still felt queasy whenever he moved too quickly - after-effects of the herbs, too little food or nervousness, he couldn't say - and that was frankly quite distracting. The smell from the bucket in the corner wasn't helping things either. He'd considered carrying it to the front of the cell, as close to the bars as he could, to maybe entice either Sir Brennis or Sir Montague to empty it once they were bothered by it too - but thus far, that had also felt slightly desperate, so he had just let it be.

And lastly, the constant _drip drip drip_ from _somewhere_ down the other end of the corridor was driving him mad. Neither knight on guard seemed bothered, but then again, they spent most of their time playing cards and looking bored. Had either of them been Leon, Merlin would have tried talking to them, but the one time he tried, Montague stuck the wooden end of his pike through the bars and tried to hit him with it, yelling for him to shut his damned mouth. He had been slow and clumsy, so Merlin easily avoided the hit, but it seemed pointless to do it again. Brennis normally wasn't nearly as irritable as Montague tended to be - a bit serious and dull, perhaps - but he was only Merlin's age, and would probably be modelling his behaviour after the older knight's, so there wasn't anything to be had there either.

What was worse, though, was how deeply unsatisfying Gaius' daily visit with the false inhibitor had been. Merlin had hoped for another chance at conversation - above all an explanation of what the hell _he can't come he's locked in_ meant - but Sir Brennis and Sir Montague weren't about to leave and looked only too happy to _assist_ Gaius in forcing the contents of the small bottle down Merlin's throat, should he try to stall any more. The only new information Merlin had, therefore, was that apparently, the king hadn't left the library all night and all day (and that someone _with authority_ should _check up on him to see whether he might need anything_ , said by Gaius to a somewhat perplexed Montague who insisted he had no influence over the king nor could give him anything that a servant couldn't assist with just as well, if not better). Merlin took this to mean _the King is still undecided_ and that he had more time.

To think. If he wanted to. And since the only thing he had thus realised was that blasting a hole in the dungeon wall, knocking out his guards and sneaking through the castle to try to find the apparently _locked in_ prince was a decidedly bad idea if he ever wanted to be able to explain things to Arthur without being killed on sight, he did want that.

If only he could actually focus and try to come up with a better plan, instead of lying sprawled on the straw-covered floor, bouncing a foot to the rhythm of the _drip drip drip_. The sun had set at least an hour ago, making the cell and the corridor dim and lit only by the two torches on the walls and a small lantern on the guards' table, to play cards by. He mostly kept his eyes closed - Brennis and Montague weren't really that interesting anyway.

He didn't trust he could sneak out without revealing he still could use his magic. He had toyed with the idea of putting Sirs Brennis and Montague to sleep, opening the cell door and… well, and leave. After that, he'd had no clue - he didn't know if there were more guards in the guard room he'd have to pass to get out of this part of the castle, he didn't know where Arthur was held, he didn't even quite know what he'd do if he would find him. Break him out too? Try to persuade him to come with Merlin to… where, exactly? The idea was ridiculous - laughable, even. What could he say? _Hi Arthur, we're in a bit of a hurry, could we run now and talk later?_

He also didn't know how long it would take before his obvious use of magic would be discovered, but eventually it must be - which would put Gaius at an enormous risk for _obviously having assisted the dangerous sorcerer_ as he'd been feeding the king false information _._

On the _other_ hand, he wasn't very keen on just sitting around either, waiting for the king to come back with something new to experiment with. Eventually, Merlin was sure, he'd turn to more obvious measures. The torture chamber in Camelot wasn't used very often, because even Uther didn't enjoy hurting people for the sake of hurting them, but there _was_ one. And someone threatening the heir to the throne would constitute as just the sort of crisis that would make it necessary to use it, in Uther's eyes. Merlin knew exactly where it was - just further down the corridor towards the _drip drip drip_ of water. He wasn't particularly interested in seeing it for himself.

So, if he wasn't going to flee, and he wasn't going to stay, he must come up with a third option. And therein lay the dilemma. He just couldn't find one at the moment - hadn't been able to all day.

At least he wasn't tired. He had several hours more to think before he'd fall asleep - he might have an idea.

Maybe something would happen - a guard change that would come with an opportunity, a new visit from Gaius with more information, anything really. Maybe Gwen would come visit - no, wait, he didn't hope for that, he must look awful and probably reeked, and she couldn't do anything anyway.

...maybe Arthur would come.

The _clang_ of the door to the corridor opening was very loud, and Merlin startled awake - _awake?_ He hadn't _meant_ to sleep, damn it all, he'd done _nothing_ but sleep this last week -

He'd barely made it to a sitting position, awkwardly holding parts of his weight on his left hand, when he froze.

The King of Camelot looked mad where he stood just outside the cell, almost touching the bars, as if he couldn't help himself - red-eyed, rumpled clothing, and a frenzied stare. Merlin quickly looked behind him to see who had accompanied him, but there was no Gaius, not even any more guards, only the confused Montague and Brennis standing attention - and his heartbeats felt shallow and quick.

"Bring him", Uther said in a raspy voice which didn't sound like his - and continued down the corridor, past Merlin's cell and his view, past the _drip drip drip_ , and there was another _clang_ of a door opening.

 _He was out of time_.

* * *

 _A/N: I am so sorry for all the typos in the last chapter! I promise to do better and reread everything before I post from now on._

 _Brennis isn't mine either! He has only been mentioned, though, so I figure I can do whatever I'd like with him._

 _Once again, thank you so much for your comments! I appreciate them all very much. Since I've had a few requests (some contradictory ones, as always is the case) of where my readers want it to go, I will give you an idea, so those of you who disapprove of the idea might find other stories you'd enjoy better instead._

 _As you might have noticed by now, exploring what Merlin and Arthur might think, say and do in another context than the show is my main inspiration for this story - and what if everyone were doing only what they thought was right? In other words, I will try to stay as close to canon characterisation as I can, because I value that in other stories very much. This means the story might get icky and bad things might happen, because Uther isn't beyond desperate measures when he feels threatened. This also means that Merlin might do cool stuff, because sometimes he actually does pretty cool stuff, but there will be no BAMF!Merlin (which I've learned is a term and come to understand what it indicates, but have no idea what it actually stands for - please clue me in if anyone knows!). Also, please bear in mind this is set between seasons 2 and 3, which means Merlin simply hasn't had time to learn much of the amazing things he can do later in the show (remember the mess regarding him being stuck in the aging spell? Yeah? Me too…). I haven't decided on an ending of this, even though I have an idea, so I can't make definite promises about happy endings either._

 _Still with me? Until next time, then! :) (When the rating will change to Mature audiences, just in case.)_


	5. Misfortunes

_**Chapter Five: Misfortunes**_

* * *

 _A tension in the air - a sense of losing patience, of having waited long enough._

" _You will tell me how to lift the curse on_ my son, _or I will make you." A sharp note of urgency, of desperation._

" _Sire, there is no -"_

 _Flesh hitting flesh. A small gasp. A clinking of chains._

" _Lift him."_

 _The rattle of heavy chains as they moved against metal. A small mumble of voices, sorting out the practicalities without wanting to disturb. A small hiss._

" _Sire. My King. I swear to you, I didn't do what you think I did."_

" _Since you have not complied, you will be quiet unless spoken to."_

" _I've never been very good at that." Nervous mumbling._

 _Flesh hitting flesh. A louder gasp. A panicked scufflling sound of feet trying to find their balance, a clinking of metal against metal._

" _What curse did you use?"  
Silence. Then a duller _thud _, a small grunt - in surprise, in pain._

" _What curse?"_

" _Sire, all my magic has ever been for -"_

" _WHAT CURSE?" A scream. "_ WHAT CURSE _HAVE YOU PUT ON_ MY _SON?"_

 _No more words, for quite some time - just noises of flesh meeting flesh, bone meeting bone, clinking of metal and scuffling of feet, hisses of pain and grunts of exertion._

 _Then only heavy breathing._

" _Sire… it is very late. Perhaps you'd like to return in the morning?" Hesitant._

" _You dare question me, Sir Brennis?" A pant - a weak voice, trying to sound strong - a desperation unwilling to give up._

" _...of course not, Sire, I merely meant -"_

" _Forgive Brennis, Sire, he's still young." Interrupting. Sharp, professional. "Any assistance you require, my lord."_

 _Silence, but for the persistent clinking of the chains, sharp breaths._

" _...my lord?"_

" _I will return in the morning." Wavering._

" _Of - of course, Sire."_

 _A rattling of chains, which stopped immediately when - "No. Let him stay. Let him_ think _." Two quick footsteps. "You could have bought yourself an easy death, sorcerer. I'll make you regret that you didn't." Venomous. (Frightened.)_

" _I cannot tell you." Words mumbled with great effort._

" _Why? What is there to tell?" Immediate._

 _Pause._

" _I cannot tell you, 'cause you wouldn't believe me."_

 _Icy silence._

" _I see your defence is falling apart, sorcerer, if that's the best you can do. I suggest you think closely on what you'd like to say tomorrow. Come. We are leaving."_

 _Three sets of footsteps walked out._

 _A door closed._

 _Darkness._

 _A shaky breath._

* * *

 _Day Eight_

The corridor outside the room had just grown grey with dawn instead of black, the faintest light trickling in through the barred window in the thick wooden door. The corners of the room still weren't visible, but there was just enough light to make out the shapes of a chair next to the door, a rack of _somethings_ on the wall to the left, something that looked like a table but probably wasn't to the right, and dangling chains hanging from the ceiling.

Merlin felt... tired.

Not just because he was in pain - which he was. Quite a bit, actually. His wrists hurt _really_ bad and the metal cuffs had chafed his skin to bleeding in at least two places, he could barely touch the floor with his toes, and Uther definitely hadn't done him any favours last night. He had been so, _so_ close at one point to _shove_ the king away from him, push him back, lash out with his magic seething and simmering so close to the surface, to _make him stop_ \- because even though Uther was getting old and looked as if he hadn't slept for days, he'd been a warrior all his life and knew where to punch a man, and _it hurt damn it_ _and he didn't deserve this_.

But he hadn't. Despite becoming bruised all over, despite the hits that kept _coming and coming and coming,_ despite the sickening panic of thinking Uther had cracked one of his ribs and that he would suffocate and _die_ (he'd come to believe afterwards that he probably hadn't, he would probably be able to see or feel it in that case, but one or two might be fractured) - he hadn't. Because unless he was in actual danger, actual life threatening danger… he had to protect Gaius. He owed him that - Gaius, who had taken him in, despite the death sentence that would mean if it was ever discovered that he had _known_. Who had given him advice, worried about him, taken care of him. Raised him, as if Merlin was his own son. He couldn't, wouldn't, put him at more risk than he already was. If there was _any_ other way, he would not allow himself to use magic so that anyone would see.

He just wouldn't.

 _And_ there was the fact that he didn't know whether Arthur would ever forgive him for throwing his father into a stone wall. Which should probably have been his first thought.

So he'd bit his lip, held on to the chains above his wrists, and tried to breathe through it. It was lucky that Uther had been exhausted and bordering insane, in a way - the punches hurt, absolutely, but while they'd had the lantern in the torture chamber, Merlin had gotten a glance at the rack with _somethings_ hanging over it, and was _very_ relieved Uther hadn't thought to use one of those.

No, the tiredness mostly came from the fact that _apparently_ , sleeping while hanging from a ceiling was neither comfortable, nor felt very instinctual. He'd planned to release himself from his chains the minute they'd left, but had luckily overheard the conversation between Brennis and Montague after Uther had stormed out of the dungeons, stating one should check on him regularly during the night.

 _Regularly_. Could mean anything from every half hour to three times during the night.

So he'd groaned slightly, and instead used the next best thing - spelling a bucket from the corner (probably there for the same reason there was one in his cell) to waddle over, putting itself beneath his feet so he could actually _stand_ and rest his aching wrists a little. He counted on the fact that neither Montague nor Brennis were that interested in guard duty, and would probably just shine the lantern through the barred window to see whether his body was still hanging attached to chains in the middle of the room, and not look that closely at his feet.

He'd been right, which however still meant he hadn't slept barely anything (standing up wasn't much of an improvement to hanging, it turned out) and that his wrists were sore and his arms hurt - but it could have been a lot worse.

He snorted. Yeah. A lot of things could have been a lot worse, but _fie_ , he was damn sure a lot of things could have been a lot better too.

The daylight from the outside was slowly chasing away the shadows from the corners. It was now, unmistakably, morning, and anyone who looked through the small window in the door would now be able to see details in the room - including buckets placed where they hadn't been placed yesterday.

Merlin took a fortifying breath, swung his arms back and forth a couple of times to get the blood flowing (his hands were cold as ice, as far as he could sense), and closed his eyes. The floor was even further away than he remembered - he could probably stand on the very tips of his toes for a while, but he wouldn't be able to do it for long. His wrists immediately began hurting again the second he put his weight on them.

He didn't want to do this. He absolutely, in no way, wanted to do this. Something he'd might call distress, or anxiety, or maybe just plain worry, had settled as a sickly, sweet ache in his chest along with a desperate _Arthur, where_ are _you?_ which wasn't something he would ever, ever allow himself to voice out loud. He sighed. Well. Arthur was not coming by his own volition, apparently.

Grimly, he called upon his magic and sent the bucket back to the corner.

So, he didn't have the third option he'd spent all of yesterday thinking about. Fine. Then he'd _make_ one.

"Hello?" he shouted as loud as he could. "Anyone there? Hello?"

His heart beat wildly - he could feel his pulse all the way from his wrists in their bindings to the gnawing feeling in his belly - but when he didn't get a reply, he still tried again: "Hello?"

"What?" an irritable voice said, and a face appeared in the barred window - a guard Merlin hadn't seen before. _Shit_. He'd hoped Brennis was still on duty, or that Leon was back. Someone who might be possible to convince to be… sympathetic.

Still, no use backing out now.

Merlin took a deep breath and spoke as steadily as he could, hoping he wasn't making the mistake of his life. "I have a message for the King."

* * *

 _Day Eight_

When Gwen thought about how she saw herself, she usually wouldn't think she was cowardly, or weak. She wouldn't say it out loud, perhaps - she wouldn't want to be perceived as _bragging_ , that would be awful - but on occasion, she had even proven herself to be pretty brave. Or, so she thought. She'd come to Ealdor and fought alongside everyone to protect the little town, despite not having been trained for battle, but knowing that what she was doing was right. She'd endured being kidnapped, survived being suspected for witchcraft, and allowed herself to give away her heart to someone who in all probability would - no, _must_ \- change his mind before there would be any chance of them being allowed to be together.

So. Compared to all the rest, this shouldn't be very hard, should it?

Decisively, Gwen picked up the tray with both hands and started walking towards the dungeons.

Convincing Gaius she could give Merlin the… _magic-dampening_ potion had taken a little while. Not that he hadn't believed she _could_ \- apparently, he'd taken them willingly these past few days, and there was no reason to believe anything would be different today. No, the issue had rather been whether she _should._ Gaius had said things like _it is my responsibility, not yours_ \- which it might be, but that didn't mean that Gwen couldn't assist him - and _you don't know what you're getting yourself mixed up in, Gwen_ \- which also might be true, but that was just _it:_ _not knowing_ wasn't _enough_ anymore. She had to see him.

She had to talk to him.

He'd been her friend.

Eventually, Gaius had sighed and given her a tiny vial, containing what couldn't be more than a mouthful of… something or other. Strange to think, that something so small could contain something so powerful as sorcery within someone's body against their will - or, well, so Gwen assumed at least, that it was against Merlin's will. But she knew she wasn't very knowledgeable about magic and that Gaius knew more than anyone in Camelot about it - that is, with the possible exception of Merlin now - and she didn't want to reveal her ignorance or seem overly curious about magic-related subjects, so she hadn't asked much. Just what to do with it.

The food she carried on the tray had been her idea, though, not Gaius'.

She knew he was fed - she'd talked to a girl a few years her junior who had been down there yesterday. She'd complained loudly in the kitchen as she and Gwen were helping with dinner preparations that she hadn't even been able to catch a glimpse of the _famous_ _sorcerer,_ because the knight on guard, _whoever that was_ , had taken the tray from her already at the door. Gwen hadn't been able to hold back the instinctual snap of _Gloating over the misfortunes of others isn't very attractive, Floree_ , and had then proceeded to feel all of proud, angry at herself for interfering, and thoroughly embarrassed at the same time, as the rest of the servants in the kitchen stared at her. She'd excused herself from the kitchen duties as soon as she possibly could, wondering if Arthur would welcome her company again, seeing as he was the only person who might possibly understand.

In the end, she hadn't dared try, and had gone home to furiously sweep and wipe and scrub every possible object and surface in her home for something to distract her hands, if not her mind. She'd seen what they'd thought and known what they'd say as soon as she'd left the room. Something like _there it is, proof that she's involved with the sorcerer - I know for a fact they were friends, those two._ Or maybe _that's the one whose father was executed for sorcery, indeed - no wonder she's sympathetic to the one they caught last week._ Or even _to think she's allowed to stay, she's up to no good, that's for sure._

Despite her embarrassment, she'd held her head high today as she assembled a food tray _for the prisoner_ , as she explained with a _very_ steady voice when asked. Whatever Merlin might have done, he deserved to eat well during his imprisonment. He'd been her friend. _Yes_ , he'd had ulterior motives for being in Camelot, possibly even for befriending her, and _yes_ , he'd done some awful things as well - but no one, not even sorcerers, could pretend _all_ the time. There must be some good in him, because there was no other explanation for all the hundreds of small, kind favours he did not only her, but most everyone around him. Some things could be explained away with him having lied and nestled his way into being liked, and some of it must surely be just that. But _all_ of it? Pretending to be kind every day of every week of every month, if you were evil through and through? Gwen didn't think it humanly possible. And she knew it was treason to even _think_ such a thing, but she didn't see how she could think differently.

So, all in all - her feeling a fool and as if everyone followed her every move with hard eyes shouldn't stop her from giving him the little she could. Not when he would be… well. No use thinking about such things now.

Gwen took the stairs carefully on her way down, feeling each step with her toes before letting her weight shift because of the tray that blocked her view. These were the servants' stairs, not the official staircase - narrow and steep, and nigh impossible to pass someone by on, if they carried a burden. Since servants rarely had reason to head down these stairs rather than up, however, she didn't expect to meet anyone. Still, she was relieved when she took the last step and had reached the dungeons. Balancing the tray on her hip with one hand, careful not to spill the hot tea (she'd thought maybe he'd appreciate that and no one else would have brought him any), she opened the door out to the guard's room.

"Coming out", she called, the standard announcement in the servants' parts of the castle to fend off any possible imminent collisions, as she stepped out into the room.

She didn't get an answer. Not in itself surprising, but the reason was. She'd definitely expected someone to be in the guard's room - what did they think they were doing, where were they? _Didn't they have a dangerous prisoner to watch?_

Frowning, she repeated the precarious balancing act with the door leading in to the corridor where the cells were.

The daylight that streamed in through the narrow windows - barred, close to the ceiling, and located only in the cells closest to the door she just passed through - never quite seemed to be enough to brighten the dungeons. Even though it was only yet early in the afternoon and the sun still was high, Sir Leon, who sat at a guard's table in the middle of the hallway, had lit a candle.

"Sir Leon?" Gwen said hesitantly.

He quickly raised his head. "Gwen", he acknowledged. He raised an eyebrow, nodding towards her burden. "What's all that?"

She took that as an invitation to enter. The cells she passed on her way to the table were all empty, she noticed. Further in, then? "Food. For… for Merlin", because _she_ wasn't afraid to speak his name, like most others seemed to be, and just to make that clear she very decidedly kept eye contact as she said it. "Oh, and the potion. From Gaius. Also for Merlin."

Leon looked down on his hands and pressed his lips together for a brief moment, before he looked up again, face relaxed, and gave her a friendly nod. "Right. Thank you. I'll take those and let you go back upstairs."

If she hadn't grown up in the same household as Sir Leon, she probably wouldn't have noticed, because Sir Leon was one of those stoic people she admired greatly sometimes, who didn't let on what they were thinking. But since she _had_ , indeed, grown up - well, not _together_ with Leon, he was a nobleman's son and she was a maid, but at least _parallel to_ him, she knew his expressions better than most. A shiver, a thrill of something hot and heavy, shot down her spine.

"What's wrong?" she blurted before she could stop herself. "Has something happened?"

Leon shook his head in discouragement. "No, no, nothing's wrong. Leave the tray. I'll make sure he gets it."

And there really was no argument against that - he sounded calm and reasonable enough and she had no reason not to believe him. She even sat they tray down on the table before him. And yet…

"Will you let me see him first?" Her mouth felt dry.

She shouldn't worry. She knew she shouldn't. But she did.

Leon sighed, and she felt the sharp, hot thrill down her spine again - _she'd known_ something was wrong. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" And if she sounded angry, it really wasn't her fault, was it? He was the one _hiding_ something and _lying_ about it, wasn't he?

"He's not…" Leon looked as if he was trying, and failing, to find suitable words. "...not really up for visitors."

Not knowing whether she really wanted to know, she asked stiffly: "And what does that mean?"

"Gwen", Leon said, turning properly in his chair to face her and looking very serious, "I know you were… close to him. Closer than most. You don't want to see him now, you shouldn't subject yourself to that. And if there are some parts of him that are… that always were what he presented, he doesn't want you to see it either."

"I think there's more than parts of him that always were what he presented", she managed to proclaim - and then she realised that she probably shouldn't have said that, not even to Leon, and quickly began to backtrack - "I mean, not that I doubt the Prince's word, I don't doubt…" and she trailed off, not knowing what _she didn't doubt. I don't doubt he's a sorcerer? I don't doubt he's cursed Arthur? I don't doubt he's evil?_

"Nevertheless", Leon merely said, and she was grateful he didn't judge her.

Gwen looked down on the tray she'd carried with such care. The tea was getting cold, she noted distantly. _You don't want to see him now. You shouldn't subject yourself to that. He doesn't want you to see it either._

"He's not here, is he?" she asked, gesturing with a vague motion towards the cells, neatly built in a row against the courtyard wall, feeling sick to her stomach. "They've… he's been…"

Leon looked at her with pity. For her? For _him_? For himself? "He's a known sorcerer, Guinevere."

"Is someone in there with him? Now?" She managed to keep her voice at least somewhat steady.

Leon shook his head. "Sir Erec, no one else. He's… well, we felt it unwise to leave him completely… unsupervised."

"Please, Leon", she whispered, forgetting to use his proper title and barely noticing. "Let me see him. Let me talk to him. I haven't seen him since…" _Since he was captured. Since he was revealed. Since everyone started to think he was dangerous, evil, an enemy._

She _needed_ to see for herself.

He looked at her, without speaking, for a long time.

"I can handle it", she added, trying to sound brave. She knew she could. Whatever it was, she knew she could - or, at least, that she'd done a lot of things she hadn't thought she would be able to do, but when she really had to, she'd done them anyway. This was just such a situation.

Leon exhaled. "Alright then. Come on. It's time for the inhibitor anyway." He grabbed the little bottle from the tray but left the rest, and with a small, doubtful look towards the food, Gwen did the same, and followed him down the corridor empty-handed.

"I bring a visitor", Leon announced quietly as he opened a heavy door with a small, barred window.

Sir Erec, a young knight with black hair and dark, bewildered eyes, rose from a chair next to the door as they entered. "Is that… appropriate, Sir Leon?"

Gwen didn't listen to anything else of their conversation, merely registered that they were talking - because _there_ , in the middle of the room, was Merlin - but not in a way she'd ever seen him before; _this_ Merlin was naked from the waist up (something which normally would have made her blush and look away but not now, good God not now, she couldn't look away) and he looked barely strong enough to lift his head but he'd still done that, looking confused, as if he had trouble focusing -

\- and by all that was holy, there was _blood everywhere_ and it _reeked_ in there, like the gutter outside the taverns in the lower town by midnight, like the gutter outside the butcher's shop where old blood mixed with new, and Gwen's breath caught in her throat and she couldn't stop her eyes welling up in horror, anger, pity, as she followed the lines of dried and drying blood from his wrists, locked into thick metal cuffs which in turn were attached to the ceiling with heavy chains - down to his shoulders, where she could glimpse red stripes of welted skin, and thin wounds clotting with blood - and _yes_ , when she took a few steps into the room and to the side she could see parts of his back and that was enough, _more_ than enough to realise all of it looked the same, if not worse; bruised and torn and still bleeding in some places - and it had stained his dark trousers and she thought she could even see a tiny trail on his boot, which was dangling half an inch above the floor -

"Oh, _Merlin_ ", someone wailed, and she realised it was her.

"Take a step back, miss", someone said, and not until then she noticed she was almost close enough to touch him. She halted, but didn't step back.

"...Gwen?"

Merlin's eyes looked _just the same_ as they'd always looked - if slightly unfocused. His slight, crooked smile ( _in relief? gratitude? merely recognition?)_ looked _just the same_ as it had done _before_.

She was frozen to the spot. She couldn't speak. She couldn't think.

She didn't know what to do.

"What are you doing here?" His voice sounded hoarse, rough - _from screaming_ , Gwen thought wildly - but other than that it sounded _just the same_.

"I can't stay", was the first thing that came out of her mouth, and she felt ashamed of herself. "I - I had to see - I wanted to -" but oh, how naive she'd been, what a mistake it had been to come -

"I need you to... do something for me, Gwen", Merlin interrupted with more urgency than she'd thought possible for someone in his state, wincing as he squirmed in his chains, trying to reach the floor and she wanted to say _no stop what are you doing you'll hurt yourself_ and she said nothing as he hissed in pain when the wounds on his back had to stretch for him to finally, _finally_ , get his toes to touch the floor. She assumed that gave him a sense of control, a sense of choice, to stop dangling from his wrists and almost stand, because it couldn't be any more comfortable than he'd just been - it certainly didn't look it.

"Gwen? Will you?"

She stared.

 _Would she?_

"I need you to talk to Arthur for me", and she could hear it now, a slight tone of desperation that had been hidden in the rasp in his voice, in the pain he'd tried to suppress. "I… need you to tell him I must talk to him. That… I need him to come. He… he'd listen to you, if you asked him."

And something must have shown on her face, because he looked alarmed and quickly continued: "I'm not trying to trick you, Gwen, I _swear_ to you I don't - _damnit_ -" and he broke off in another hiss of pain when he tried to lean forward (a gesture of intimacy? of earnestness? of manipulation?) and lost his precarious balance, probably pulling on all his wounds on his back simultaneously.

She didn't stop to think before she turned towards Leon and Sir Erec, wanting to _look away_ and cast blame somewhere, on someone - something still lodged in her chest so that her breaths could only be shallow and quick and her voice sounded strangled, even to her ears. "Couldn't you take him down?"

Sir Erec shook his head. Leon said, very neutrally: "King's orders."

"Figures", she thought she heard Merlin mutter and almost choked on the nervous laughter that wanted to break out but she kept down _because he sounded just like he normally did_.

There was a moment of silence.

"Gwen?" She turned back towards him. He sounded resigned. And that _hurt_. "Please?"

She didn't say _But he's locked in his chambers and won't be let out_ , or _He might not want to see you,_ or _What could you possibly tell him that would change anything?_

Instead, she said, with a voice that shook only a little: "I'll tell him."

The gratefulness on his face hurt even worse than the resignation had.

"It's time again", Leon said then, stepping forward. She was confused for a second, before she saw the vial in his hand. _Yes, of course._

Merlin stared at the potion for a split moment, as if he couldn't believe his eyes - then he started to laugh somewhat hysterically, before breaking off into two coughs and a groan of pain. "Right. Right", he said, voice hoarse and… amused? "Yes. Go on, then."

With a last glance backwards, as Leon helped Merlin swallow the inhibitor, Gwen fled the room, completely at a loss both for what just had happened and what she'd do next, shaken to her core.

* * *

 _He'd counted on Uther being angry - possibly so angry he'd come down himself to punch him some more - but that he'd see sense in the end, that anything that might help Arthur would be worth it._

 _He probably should have counted on Uther being absolutely livid and not in his right mind to think much at all._

" _If you let me talk to Arthur, I'll cooperate" did indeed sound something like him retracting his previous assertion that he hadn't done anything to Arthur. That he had indeed put a spell, or a curse, on the Prince, and he might remove it if he got to speak to him. It did sound a little like the start of a confession. To his only defense, he had barely slept, he'd been in pain, he'd been under pressure to phrase something quickly, and he'd been getting desperate, when he'd said that to Sir Erec._

 _With all this in mind, he still probably should have predicted Uther sending someone to get him to talk._

 _He'd tried to repeat his request at first - if he was allowed to see Arthur, he'd be of assistance. The guard Uther had sent, who acted as an executioner when the need arose, wasn't known for his conversational skills, however._

" _Anything you can say to the Prince, you can say to the King."_

 _But it wasn't so much that he had something in particular he needed to say - that would have been easy, if there had only been that - but rather that he needed for Arthur to see, to talk, to be shaken, to_ feel _, and there was no message for Arthur that would ever be sufficient._

 _Four lashes in, he was terrified he'd accidentally release the tight hold he had on his magic, blast both the man holding the whip, Leon and Sir Erec_ away _from him, that he'd expose Gaius as a liar and a traitor, that he'd hurt innocents; that he'd be desperate enough for his magic to force its way out of him, crack the stones above them and bury them all underneath tons of rock and mortar; that he'd become someone worthy of being feared._

 _And so he kept his magic tightly contained - and screamed._

 _And screamed._

 _He screamed until he had no more air, until his throat ached, until he was sure his magic would_ burst _if he allowed himself even that release -_

 _\- and then he just breathed, uneven, harsh breaths, desperate sobs as the whip struck, again and again and again -_

 _\- and then, finally, there was nothing._

* * *

 _Day Eight_

The unbolting and unlocking of the door which was definitely _not_ followed by a knock, signalling this visit was from the King and no one else, came earlier that day than usual. It was only mid-morning, and Arthur was, embarrassingly enough, still in bed. He'd sent away the girl with the breakfast tray, opting for more sleep, since there was nothing, _nothing_ , to be done he hadn't also done yesterday and would also do tomorrow, so he might as well lose as much of the day he could.

He threw the covers back as soon as his mind registred the sounds, rushing to sit down at his desk by the window, picking up a random quill - barefoot, but thanking the powers almighty that he'd at least slept in his breeches _and_ a nightshirt - and hastily running his hand through his hair to try to make it look like he hadn't _just_ this second stepped out of bed.

"Good morning, Father", he said, a little too loudly and a little too quickly, just as the King opened the door.

Uther shot him a suspicious look, no doubt catching that _something_ was amiss but not sure what, but said nothing about it. "Good morning, Arthur."

Arthur had a strong urge to continue the conversation, because that's what people _do_ when they're not asleep, but was apparently not quite awake just yet, because he couldn't come up with a single thing to say to that. Not until then he noticed there was no paper at his desk. He put the quill down again.

After a slightly awkward pause, Uther continued, with something of an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice: "And how do you feel today?"

"Good!" Arthur exclaimed - then took a deep breath and tried to speak normally, instead of with the slightly panicked tone he'd just used. "Fine. I feel fine. Thank you."

Uther nodded, frowning. "Still no change?"

"Same as yesterday", Arthur shrugged.

"No change at all? Neither for better, nor for worse?"

It was Arthur's turn to frown, sleep-addled brain finally trying to make sense of the conversation. "...why do you ask?"

Had he been more awake, he'd probably picked up earlier that something was wrong, something had changed - but he had not. As it was, it turned his insides to cold stone first when the King spoke again. "I've decided the time for patience with the sorcerer is over - that the time for _herbs_ and _talks -_ " the words were almost spat, "-is over. We've changed approach."

"Changed appr - changed it to what? _Why_?"

With effort, Arthur kept from yelling, kept his voice steady, only allowed emphasis and not a raised voice - because he _shouldn't_ , for _a ton of reasons_ , be upset - even if Merlin had been hurt, even if he had been _killed_ \- and he shouldn't be _yelling_ , and it made no sense that he should feel the need to do so - except the _damned_ curse.

Uther didn't speak, just _looked_ at him for a second, with one eyebrow slightly raised - and with a vague, nauseous feeling in his guts, Arthur stood, keeping one hand on the desk _just to make sure_ he didn't stumble, falter, fall.

"We knew it would come to violence eventually", his father said evenly.

Yes. Arthur had known that, and his head nodded his agreement before he could think. His mouth felt very dry. He didn't say _This farce must end now_ , nor _I won't allow him to be hurt,_ nor _I must see him at once_.

"We had him flogged an hour ago or so", Uther continued. Are you absolutely certain you felt nothing? No… lessening of the hold he has on you, no release?"

For a second, Arthur wanted to say _No, I felt nothing - violence must not have worked, Father, we must try another way._

For a second, Arthur wanted to say _Yes, Father, now that you mention it - I did feel something about an hour ago, I felt lighter somehow, I must be released._

For a second, Arthur wanted to say _No, I felt nothing - have you heard, Father, some think I'm not even cursed, some say this is all in vain and nothing you try will make me feel different - shouldn't we let Merlin go, do you think, he's never done anything to hurt me, he's harmless really._

For a second, Arthur wanted to say _Yes, I felt something, but I don't think I'm released yet, I still feel the same - that sorcerer should be_ bled _until all the magic in him and in me has vanished, for what he's done, for what he's hidden._

He found he could say nothing.

He instead shook his head in reply, slowly, deliberately.

Because _damn it all to hell_ he had felt nothing. Again.

He prayed next time _they whipped him_ (or whatever they would do next time - because there would be a next time, there would be new _things_ , new _methods_ to try; there would be unhurt body parts and there would be hurt body parts one could hurt more, and the human body can sustain a remarkable amount of pain before it gives in), he would feel something. Anything.

Even just the _knowledge_ of it happening _right then, right there_ must be better than the knowledge of him having slept through it. And then suddenly, he felt like a coward for wanting to take that thought back. He didn't want to know. Didn't want to hear about it. Didn't want to see.

He just… wanted it to be over.

Uther took two steps forward, and grabbed Arthur's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Next time", he vowed.

 _If he opened his mouth, he didn't trust what would be let out_. So he nodded again.

"I'll send in Gaius, to make sure", Uther announced, released Arthur and strode back towards the door.

"No", Arthur blurted, before he could stop himself.

Uther stopped and turned. "You do not wish to see him?"

"I don't wish to see anyone today", Arthur said in a voice which sounded stiff, but remarkably calm, and not until he said it did he realise how much he wished to truly be left alone.

No guards, no father, no Gaius, no _noone_. He longed for a horse and open plains; a campfire in the woods; a hunting spear and a trail. (And he decided not to think about the fact that Merlin would have been on all of those outings with him.)

Uther's eyes softened. "I know this is a terrible ordeal for you, Arthur - don't think I can't see that. If that would make it easier to bear, I will make sure your wishes are honoured."

Arthur nodded in gratitude, willing away any stinging in his eyes and nose. Good grief, he was the crowned prince of Camelot - staying in his room for a bit was all he'd wished for when he was sixteen and dragged away on all sorts of duties. This was nothing.

The _clang_ of the locks sapped all the strength from his muscles, and he sat hard on the chair again.

He breathed.

Right.

Apparently, Arthur thought, very consciously not turning around to face his _blasted_ window overlooking the courtyard and the doorway down to the dungeons - _apparently_ , he had to make up his mind about this whole… _mess_.

Because doing nothing would, in fact, hurt Merlin.

And he needed to not just _let it happen -_ he needed to _decide_ whether he believed that was the right thing to do or not. To take action. To stop _waiting_ for things to sort themselves out on their own, and to start _doing_ , like the future king he was supposed to be.

Either Merlin should be given the opportunity to explain himself, to defend himself, despite the fact that he was a sorcerer and it seemed _very much_ like he'd been using Arthur for his own gain, because there was just that _slightest possibility_ that he hadn't - or he should be killed, for all their safety, and before that he should be forced to break his almost definitely proven hold over Arthur by any means necessary. There was no in between, and he'd let it stay in between for too long now.

He needed to start thinking.

* * *

 _A/N: Longer wait but longer chapter! I am sorry for the wait, I truly am, but I won't promise to do better, because chapters will have to come whenever I have the time to finish them and not before. The observant will also have noticed the rating for this story changed with this chapter. I'd rather be safe than sorry, because now I'm actually piling up on both violence and crude language, and next chapter isn't better in that regard. This is how graphic the violence is going to get, though, for those of you who are as squeamish as I am._

 _This also marks the first chapter with Gwen as a narrator! I had a lot of fun with her, her perspective was unplanned when I first started the story but she'll definitely be back. Please tell me what you thought of her, I'm very curious :)_

 _As always, I treasure your thoughts and opinions!_


	6. More Harm Than Good

_**Chapter Six: More Harm Than Good**_

* * *

 _Day Eight_

Gwen barely waited for Gaius' " _come in!_ " before she pushed the door open and entered the room.

"Gaius, you must talk to Arthur", she burst out, willing away the stinging sensation behind her eyes and in her nose because she had no _reason_ to cry and it was _silly_ to be upset now really - then looked around in confusion at the seemingly empty room. "Gaius?"

"One moment", came from the far corner, behind one of the huge shelves stuffed with drying herbs hanging from small hooks, little pouches, glass bottles in various sizes, and books stacked in every available space - barely visible in the dark room, lit only by the fire in the fireplace and a single candle on the table. Then Gaius emerged with a leather satchel in one hand and a heap of white cloth in the other, promptly put both on the table and looked at her expectantly.

"I must talk to Arthur?" he inquired with one eyebrow slightly raised.

"They won't let me in, but they will let you", Gwen said, somewhat desperate by now. She'd tried to argue with the guards outside Arthur's door - once even raising her voice, hoping perhaps he might hear her through the wood and allow her in - but nothing she said worked. They'd been adamant - it was the King's and the Prince's orders that no one were to be allowed in. And no Arthur had shown, to say anything to the contrary.

And she hadn't really had a valid excuse anyway. _I have a message from Merlin_ hadn't seemed like a good idea to say, so she'd stuck to _The prince would want me to be let in, it's important, there's a message for him_ , but when she couldn't (wouldn't) say who from, they'd grown impatient with her and sent her off, casually threatening her with _a good smack around the ears, lass, if you don't start listening to what we're saying_.

"I'm afraid you're wrong there", Gaius said, slowly sitting down on a chair by the table. His voice was light. His eyes were sad. Like they'd been, since Merlin was captured. "My presence wasn't required in the Prince's chambers today either. All of my usual visits suspended, it seems."

"All?" Then she felt the bottom of her stomach drop, her eyes widen in horror. "Gaius - have - in that case, have you seen _Merlin_ today?"

He fixed her with that blank look she still, even after knowing him for several years, felt uncomfortable to be under. "As you went there instead of me, you must know I haven't. I did try, an hour or so ago, but Sir Montague _kindly_ reminded me he'd already had his potion and I must have forgotten due to my old age." He sounded affronted at that, and Gwen would have smiled, but the muscles around her mouth felt frozen in place.

He didn't know.

 _He didn't know_. She didn't even know how to start.

But she didn't have to, because he knew her, and he saw it in her face.

"What have they done?" Gaius asked sharply, almost white in his face. "What did you see, Guinevere?"

She sat down opposite him, stalling for time - trying to find words for what she _had_ seen, but all seemed either crude in their directness or insipid in their triviality, and she looked down at her hands in her lap, trying to forget the _stench_ of the place which still lingered in her nostrils, trying to forget how _earnest_ Merlin had seemed, had looked, had sounded, like he was still _him_ , still saw himself as her friend, still cared for her. Asked her for a favour she'd accepted and he'd been so _grateful_ to her and then she'd failed, and now she didn't know whether she'd narrowly escaped the tricks of a wicked sorcerer (increasingly unlikely, said something within her) or let someone close to her heart down.

"Is he dead?" Gaius then asked with perfect articulation, not a tremor in his voice.

Her head shot up and she impulsively reached across the table to take his hand - "No! No, Gaius, no, he's alive. Don't worry, please. I'm sorry I led you to believe that, I should have -", and she broke off, not quite knowing what she _should have_ , but relieved to see Gaius had regained some of the colour in his face.

"He's badly hurt, then", Gaius surmised, and Gwen couldn't stop the tears from welling up in her eyes.

She looked away, _refusing_ to let them fall. "Not - not _permanently_ ", that same something within her which insisted Merlin was her friend certainly hoped so anyway, "but… yes. He's hurt. He's bled." A thought struck her. "Have I hindered you from treating him? By being his visitor today?" The thought made her cold.

"Possibly", Gaius allowed, but then sighed slightly, and gave her an earnest, kind look, and put his other hand on top of their two already touching. "But it is just as likely I wouldn't have been let in anyway. Treating… _criminals_ about to be executed is generally viewed as a waste of time."

He said it so _casually_ Gwen couldn't help but stare. Then she frowned and sat up straighter, pulling her hand out from his both. "You don't believe that, though. That he should be killed."

Gaius was silent for a moment. When he spoke, there was steel in his voice. "No, Guinevere. I most certainly don't."

"You think he's good." It wasn't a question.

"I know he is."

"Even though he has magic?" She already knew the answer.

"Yes." Gaius' eyes reflected the light from the fire in the dim room.

"Even though -" and she hesitated, but pressed on - "even though he's - he's put some kind of magic on Arthur?" She willed herself to not look away, to not be ashamed over having to ask, to _dare_ to stand up for what was _right_ \- because if he _had_ cursed Arthur, he'd be _wrong_ \- maybe not _evil_ , not wrong _enough_ to warrant a death sentence - but still, she had a _duty_ to Camelot, to Arthur, to be on his side against his enemies (and her feelings were admittedly somewhat protective of him as well) and if _Merlin_ was one of them, she was _duty bound_ to - well, not _hate_ him perhaps, but not allow him to continue with his… enemy activities. Somehow.

Gaius shook his head slowly. "I don't believe he has."

 _...what?_

"I thought it was proven he had?" Gwen breathed, hardly daring to hope.

"All that is proven is that Arthur is the subject of a magical effect." Gaius still met her eyes, as if eye contact alone would convince her. "The source, and the actual effect itself, are yet to be determined."

She wanted to, _oh how she wanted_ to believe it - but wanting something does not make it true, and even as her heart _ached_ for Merlin, it had also been aching for the pain and confusion and hurt in Arthur's eyes he'd allowed her to see. "But he said it himself, even Arthur said so! The - the sorcerer who broke in, Arthur _did_ hear them talk, Gaius, it's not a lie, and they said -"

"I know what they said", Gaius interrupted irritably, and Gwen fell silent. It didn't seem like it really was her he was annoyed with, though - the world, possibly. "I heard it straight from Arthur the day Merlin was arrested. The sorcerer was trying to bait Merlin, and he didn't correct him but opted for trying to get him to leave - and that, together with the fact that he does, indisputably, have magic, was more than enough to condemn him."

It suddenly struck her that if someone heard them now, she and Gaius would join Merlin in the dungeons, and she shuddered involuntarily with the cold sensation that thought brought. "He hasn't done it, then?" she whispered. "Truly?"

Gaius nodded slowly, looking at her closely. "He doesn't know why Arthur's blood reacted either."

 _Innocent_. A massive sense of relief swept over her in an almost physical sensation, and she slumped back on the bench, not realising until now she'd leaned over the table until she nearly lifted from her seat.

The thought struck her hard, but - and she looked up again - disbelieving of how Gaius just _sat_ there like nothing had happened - "But then - then we must help him, Gaius. We must get him out!"

He said nothing for a moment, but she thought she saw astonishment, and then gratitude in his face. She realised it was because she'd be willing to help Merlin despite the fact that he had magic - but how could she not? If it was only magic, and not actual harm - only magic, which so far as she'd heard had only hurt a sorcerer wanting to break into Camelot, and no one else - and if it was Merlin which wielded it… well.

"Not yet", Gaius said then. "I have offered mine already, but he's declined it. I will make sure I can see to his injuries tomorrow, though." He sounded displeased with that, and Gwen knew that knowingly leaving someone, anyone, untreated went directly against all Gaius believed. "Trying to get admitted again tonight is futile and wouldn't do either us nor Merlin any good."

She must have looked sceptical - because Gods knew that did _not_ feel like the best plan she'd ever heard and now when she knew Merlin was innocent (thank all the heavens he was _innocent_ ), leaving him down there for another night, hanging by his wrists, bleeding all over the floor, thinking she believed him to be evil, an enemy, maybe thinking she believed he deserved all of this - no, she wasn't comfortable with that at all.

"Don't worry, Gwen, he's stronger than you think", Gaius said kindly. "He's capable. If he truly needs to, he's able to escape on his own. He will tell us if he needs help."

"...but Gaius", Gwen said with a sinking feeling in her stomach, "I… I think he already told me that he does."

* * *

 _Day Nine_

When Uther came to visit that morning, Arthur was prepared.

He'd been practicing the upcoming conversation all afternoon yesterday - trying to counter all arguments his father might possibly have. He'd sent for a servant to help him shave and dress at dawn, so that he'd feel at his best, look his most… princely. Hist most impressive, some might say. Like he was someone to be taken seriously. He'd already eaten breakfast (a long time ago, in fact), and was now mainly… sitting.

When the beam was moved and the door opened, he stood up, back straight, head lifted. "Father", he greeted.

"Arthur", said Uther. "I'll have to make it brief today, I'm afraid. Have Gaius been to see you?"

Well, that had not been his father's opening line in any of the conversations he'd practiced yesterday, but no matter. Arthur quickly collected himself. "He hasn't."

"I'll make sure he's sent for, then. Everything still unchanged?"

"It is. And speaking of that -" he saw an opening, and took it - "I believe it would do both me and the people good if I were to go outside for a few hours today."

"You know that's impossible", Uther said shortly.

"Had the curse meant I would start hurting people at random, surely it would have begun with you", Arthur reasoned, making his voice as even and uncaring as he could. "And if it means to force me to do other things - well, how much harm can I do in an hour or two?"

"It's not safe."

"I'd have to stay with a knight or two, of course, but there's no real reason I couldn't take a walk around the castle at least. People have started spreading rumours about me as being unfit for the crown", something which he had almost had to _drag_ out of the three different servants he'd spoken to since Gaius' visit yesterday, "and I believe it would do them good to see me. Acting normal."

"I said _no_ , Arthur."

"It's even possible I could help with the… investigation." He had debated with himself whether he should offer to go down to the dungeons and talk to Merlin, but in the end thought any such request would most likely make his father wonder whether that was the curse talking (and frankly, he did wonder the same thing) and promptly forbid it. It would be easier to ask forgiveness than permission, if he _did_ decide to go there.

"Arthur, you agreed to submit to any precaution I saw fit", Uther said with a sharp note to his voice. "The sorcerer is still alive. There is no evidence he has lifted the curse, or that it has worn off. You will stay here, as you volunteered to do."

"But Father -"

"This discussion is over."

"I _must_ have something to do!" it finally burst out of him in frustration, and as soon as he said it, he knew he'd lost. At least he hadn't said _I must do something_ , which would have been… borderline suggesting his father wasn't handling things as he should. Which he might be, or might not be. But which Arthur was at no liberty to suggest, under present conditions.

Uther's eyes bored into Arthur and they looked like fire. "What we _must_ is to get the curse off you. That is our only priority. You should keep in mind that _all we do_ is for you."

And Arthur couldn't say _Gaius doesn't think I'm cursed_ , because he knew that would put Gaius at risk of even more suspicion than he already was. And he couldn't say _I don't think I'm cursed,_ because he wasn't sure he thought that yet. And he couldn't say _I'm going mad please let me out_ , because his father would never accept that as more important than freeing him from a curse, which he may or may not be under. And he couldn't say _I just need to talk to Merlin_ , because he didn't even know what he would say or what he wanted to hear.

In the end, all he mumbled was "I know", and that was that.

He wondered when he'd started to fear the solitude more than the curse. He wondered how he could miss the constant flow of inane blabber that used to fill his chambers so much, how he could feel like if only had that, he'd be able to bear this so much easier.

He wondered how he could miss someone with magic. He wondered whether he should.

He wondered if he'd ever see Merlin alive again, if he didn't start making drastic decisions. And he wondered whether making those drastic decisions would be worth it.

* * *

 _They'd been back with the whip, and they had a knife this time, and there were two of them._

 _He had made a plan for what to do when they came back - had rehearsed a spell that caused confusion and grimly had prepared himself to take a few strokes just to have fresh blood to show - but he hadn't counted on there being two of them to stay. He had no plan that would work if one of them kept his eyes on him all the time._

 _They knew where he hurt most, because one of them had done it to him. They knew no one had been there to see to his wounds. They knew he was hungry, and cold, and tired. They knew which cuts to probe to make him gasp and try to get away, and then wince when he lost his balance, and they laughed._

 _They told him to lift the curse as they did so. And he despaired, because all he could say was that there was no curse, and they didn't believe it, and he_ knew _they wouldn't believe it. He wasn't surprised when they used the whip._

 _And he'd screamed._

 _And he'd bled._

 _And he'd forced his magic to stay down, because Arthur would come. He'd sent for him, and he would come._

 _Before he passed out, he had time to wonder whether this time he might die before he woke up._

 _He wondered whether his destiny would let him._

* * *

 _Day Nine_

He'd been so deep in thought that Gaius came in unheard, despite all the ruckus the locks and bolts made, and he started from seeing the movement by the door - then felt stupid for doing so - a trained warrior, was he, with a fighter's instincts? "Ah. Gaius." He considering adding _I didn't hear you_ , but that must have been glaringly obvious from his reaction.

"Sire." Gaius nodded respectfully, all the same.

The silence that followed felt more awkward than Arthur would have liked. Should he bring up their conversation of yesterday - should he say he'd been thinking about it? Should he admit just how much? Should he try to pretend it hadn't happened - he wasn't very proud of shouting at Gaius, but apologising didn't feel like the… natural progression order of, well, these kinds of conversations.

"I bring a message", Gaius said eventually, looking closely at Arthur.

"A message? Whom from?"

"Merlin."

Arthur wanted to say _Why hasn't he sent word earlier, hasn't he wanted to talk to me until now?_ and _I don't want to hear anything from him_ and _Thank all gods he's still well enough to be able to send a message_ and _You've really been on his side all along then, Gaius, does my Father know you're not as loyal as you seem_.

He said: "And what does he say?"

"He asks you to come down to visit him", Gaius said with that infuriating neutral voice of his.

Arthur waited a second, and then said incredulously: "Is that all?"

"That is all."

"He usually can't _stop_ talking, and now he stops at _that_? What kind of message is that anyway?" He found he was angry, and being angry felt easier than being confused or helpless, so he didn't try to stop it. "Doesn't he know I'm not even allowed out of my rooms at the moment?"

"He knows very little about anything that goes on above ground", Gaius said with a hint of _something_ in his voice that Arthur couldn't quite identify.

"But _you_ have no such excuse - why didn't you tell him so when you took the message? Then maybe he would have sent something more worthwhile!" Arthur rose from his seat and walked to the window - then back towards the table, avoiding looking at Gaius. He _did_ understand he was unfair in taking this anger out on him. That didn't help the situation in the slightest.

"Gwen took the message, not I. I've tried to tell him so on a previous… visit, but wasn't given sufficient time to explain."

"Guinevere has been to see Merlin?" He stopped in his tracks. She shouldn't have. She endangered herself if she showed sympathy towards someone like him.

He also found, with an uncomfortable twist in his stomach to accompany the thought, that he didn't want her to see Merlin the way he surely must look now. Bruised and filthy, bloody and hurt. She shouldn't have to see him like that - they'd been close friends for a long time now. And it proved that she was far braver than he was himself, because _he_ didn't want to see Merlin that way either, and hadn't even tried getting down there. Until today, that was.

"Yesterday. She tried to come here directly to tell you, but wasn't admitted."

"I wanted to… be alone", he muttered, suddenly strangely ashamed of himself, and started pacing again.

"So we found."

"So he wants to see me." Some part of him felt glad to be wanted, to be asked for by a… well, by someone who knew him well. Another practically _screamed_ that _it's a trick it's a lure it's to fool you again_. Another recoiled in disgust from the thought _what had it taken for him to be desperate enough to send word to someone who hadn't even visited him in prison once_. "Why?"

"As I said, I don't know anything more." The _something_ in Gaius' voice was stronger now.

"Then _guess_ ", Arthur said irritably. "You know him better than anyone, don't you? You must have some idea." He picked up the cup he'd been drinking from when Gaius entered and began taking a sip, before realising it was empty. He pretended to swallow something nevertheless.

Gaius was silent. Eventually, Arthur turned to look at him. "Well?"

"I imagine he wants a chance to explain himself", Gaius said finally, and Arthur _finally_ identified the tinge to Gaius' voice as hard-controlled, well suppressed fury. "Since he hasn't been given that."

Arthur swallowed the shame that rose through his throat and put the very empty goblet down again. "Proven sorcerers are generally thought not to need one", he said drily.

"And what do _you_ think, my lord?" The question was respectful. The stinging tone was not.

"I don't _know_!" He'd banged a fist against the table and said it before he'd even begun to think what to answer, and he must sound more than slightly desperate. "Damnit, Gaius, hell if I know. I - if I had a choice to go see him, I might - I _might_ \- but I _don't_." He took a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to slow down.

"You could ask the King. You _are_ in here voluntarily."

"I already did." Gaius looked visibly surprised at that, and it felt strangely good to know he _had_ done _something_ Gaius could approve of, at least. "He refuses, until we can be sure I'm… myself. I tried every argument I could think of, but he will have none of it."

He decided, firmly pushing down the last lingering feelings of shame, that he didn't need to tell Gaius he still hadn't quite made up his mind about what he _would_ do, even if he'd been allowed out. He was his own man. He'd make up his own mind.

At that, Gaius seemed to deflate and all anger run out of him. "I see", he said heavily. "I'll… try to get a chance tell Merlin that."

"I thought you saw him every day?" Arthur asked, happy for the change of a _most_ uncomfortable subject. "That shouldn't be very hard."

"It's harder now, when they've started torturing him", Gaius said evenly, holding Arthur's gaze and making it impossible to look away. "They don't want a physician _meddling_ with their work. I've been refused once today already."

The now familiar, heavy clump in his guts came back. He forced out: "I see."

The silence was heavy.

There was hesitation in Gaius' voice when he said: "I… don't want to suggest you do anything…"

"Drastic?" Arthur suggested, feeling that hysterical need to laugh again he'd become more familiar with the past week than he ever would have liked.

"Indeed." Gaius seemed to breathe a little easier. "But... I would ask you, Sire, to ask the King again whether you couldn't see him. I beg of you, Sire, please send for the King."

Arthur shifted from one foot to the other. "You don't have to... beg me, Gaius. If you think it can help, then I will."

"It may not help at all", Gaius said. "It may very well do more harm than good - much more harm than good, in fact. But Merlin has asked for you, Sire, and he needs you."

Arthur stared back. "You do really believe he's worth saving", he said slowly. "Even though he has magic."

"He does have magic." Gaius blinked and a shadow of something that looked like guilt fell over his face, then disappeared. "But you know him better than you think, Sire - please believe that. He hasn't cursed you. He's never used his magic that way. And he never will."

"What you're saying is treason." There was no difference to be made between _having magic_ and _using magic for evil_. Arthur knew that. Gaius knew that.

Merlin knew that.

Gaius didn't look away. "Yes, my lord - under King Uther, what I'm saying is treason."

And Arthur heard _Under another king, it might not be_ , and _I trust you not to take this to the King, Sire_ , and _I believe this boy is worth committing treason for_.

And he nodded slowly in reply.

* * *

 _Some Time After The Incident_

He woke sluggishly, confused and not quite able to place the smells and sounds around him. He tried to shift to a more comfortable position - and all air seemed to be sucked out of his lungs or he would have _screamed._ Instead, all that came out was a pitiful low moan he barely believed came from him.

He remembered now, with the sudden clarity pain gave - he remembered their whips - and yes, when he opened his eyes he could see blood splattered on the floor beside him - he remembered how he'd twisted in the chains, yelling as loud as he could so he wouldn't start talking and accidentally using a spell he didn't want to use; using the pain in his wrists as he hung from the ceiling as a twisted focus point as a distraction from what they _did to him_ , to not have to think of the wet slapping sounds as they reopened the wounds from before and made new ones, to not have to think of what his back must look like, to not have to think about the fact that _Arthur must come_ and _Arthur hadn't come_.

He remembered their faces. The guard some called Tyneman, who acted as executioner for Uther whenever needed and _apparently_ also had other uses and felt no qualms about it - and Sir Montague, eager at first, hesitant later, but never faltering in his _duty_ \- and sir Erec, his face white, peeking in through the barred window once, then turning green instead and disappearing. He remembered their voices - one neutral, one harsh with anger and shame, asking the same questions _over and over_ , not accepting the only answer he could give.

He would remember it until the day he died.

He blinked hard - once, twice. Damn it all to hell. He should have gotten out the instant he woke up in the cell and found he was alone. He could have forced his magic to work. He could have _blasted_ his way through the guards, grabbed Gaius, and run. Then one day, when Arthur was king… maybe, he could have come back and explained.

He wouldn't be running anywhere just now, though, lying limp on the stone floor, barely daring to breathe for the pain.

...that wasn't right. He should be hanging from the ceiling, shouldn't he?

Frowning, trying to make his mind work, he shifted one elbow in under his body, holding his breath for the pain, trying to sit up to gain some kind of clue to what had happened after he passed out, why he'd been let down, put his other hand down to lift some of his weight -

\- and stared.

Someone had been here, was his first, distant reaction; Gaius must have been allowed down when he was unconscious, because someone had bandaged his hand, and those kind of wounds weren't easy to bandage well, so it had clearly been someone with professional knowledge. He let himself fall forward again and used his unbandaged hand to feel his sides and stomach - no, his back wasn't bandaged, Gaius must have been allowed only to help with his hand.

It must have bled a lot. He couldn't look away, though, to look for the bloodstain - couldn't take his eyes off the white linen, red and brown with blood at the end.

Where his two littlest fingers used to be on his left hand.

 _You need to start talking, sorcerer_ , they'd said. _Or we'll have to show you we're serious._

 _We can stop whenever you want_ , they'd said. _Just give us something to bring to the King._

And _damn_ him, he'd been unable to focus. He hadn't believed them, once he'd understood. He'd thought they were only threatening, because he hadn't _understood,_ not really, because Uther never used to torture anyone, he'd never heard of it in all the years he'd been in Camelot. He hadn't called on his magic, pressed down deep under layers of determination, pain, and a losing grasp of consciousness, and he hadn't even been able to remember _why_ it was so important at the time not to use it, only that he _couldn't_ , and so he hadn't stopped them.

And he'd _let them_ cut his _fingers off_.

He had heard the _crunching_ sound before he felt anything - and then had only felt the unfamiliar sensation of something against his _bone_ for a moment, before the excruciating agony took hold.

Watching what was left of his hand now, he could feel the echoes of it, and his stomach turned.

He barely had time to shift onto his elbow again and turn his head, before he gagged on bile and tears.

What made the whole thing even worse, he reflected a while later, lying panting as far from the little stinking puddle he'd made as he could without having aggravated his back or his hand too much moving - was that he was fairly sure he should feel cold, not warm. The air was cool, he had lost a lot of blood, and he hadn't gotten a replacement for the shirt that had torn the first time they flogged him.

As if the thought itself had triggered something within his body, it immediately started shivering. Merlin curled up as best he could, winced as he felt a scabbed over wound on his back reopen, and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

Alright then, so he definitely had a fever. Trying to think logically, pushing back the dread and horror that had been lying _oh so close_ to the surface ever since he saw his hand - it must be his wounds that were getting infected. Or even only the fact that he'd been stuck in a cold, damp place without enough food, water or warmth for over a week. That should be enough in itself, really, no wounds should be required.

The problem was that he was fairly sure a decent bout of fever when he was in this state could kill him. Either because he died from the illness itself, or because he'd be too weak to fend off Uther's guards when they finally came to take him to the pyre.

And he didn't want to die.

He wanted to live.

He may already be too late, but he _had to try_.

Holding his breath, he began to push himself up to a sitting position, trying to ignore his back, his hand, the wetness on his face; the sensation of closing wounds reopening, the sensation of _knowing_ there should be something where his hand throbbed with every heartbeat but _knowing_ there was nothing, the deep-set ache in his shoulders from having had all of his weight hanging from them for - well, he didn't know how many hours, but _many_ ; the realisation that his escape would put Gaius at risk, and the realisation that he would do it anyway.

He wanted to live. He needed to live.

He made it to the door on pure determination; his good hand on the wall for support, his bad hanging limp beside him. He could imagine what he looked like, and it wasn't good.

He heard voices through the door - muffled, calm voices; the sort of voices that belonged to guards that knew that nothing more would happen tonight. He thought maybe one of them belonged to Leon, but he couldn't be sure. The lights from the corridor shone in through the small window, and he realised it must be nighttime.

Well, one stroke of good luck in this whole mess, then.

Turning his eyes on the lock in the door, bringing the magic that had bubbled and raged and been quashed under his will grudgingly up towards the surface, focusing with all the power he had left, he whispered: " _Tóspringe_."

* * *

Tóspringe = spring apart (open)

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for your patience! Both with me and Merlin, who's_ finally _taking charge over his own fate... Next chapter should be a lot quicker than this one._

 _Any reviews you wish to leave me are incredibly welcome - I'm especially curious about what you guys thought about this last scene. 3 Until next time!_


	7. An Awful Lot of Questions

_**Chapter Seven: An Awful Lot of Questions**_

* * *

 _Day Ten_

He couldn't place the sound at first, when he woke.

Then he sat bolt upright in his bed. _Warning bells._

"Guard." His voice was thick and hoarse with sleep, and he cleared it. "Guard!"

The time it took to unbolt the door gave him time to find a jacket to put over his sleeping shirt.

"Yes, Sire?" Sir Brennis entered, wide-eyed and looking much younger than he usually did.

"Go find out why the alarm is sounded", Arthur barked, feeling his heart beat wildly in his chest. He could have continued with _Check the dungeons first_ or _Leave a guard outside my door_ or _No, wait, I already know, don't bother_. But he didn't.

"Yes, Sire", Brennis repeated.

The door shut with a sense of finality Arthur wasn't sure if he imagined or not.

At a sudden loss, but with the rush of battle in his veins, he walked over to the window, feeling his hands shake by his side - longing for his sword, for something to _do_ , something to _hit -_ for the complete sense of security he always felt in battle in that _he was right_ and _they were wrong_. The courtyard below was barely visible in the grey light that came just before dawn, and the soldiers and knights half-running in groups of two or three looked like ants, milling about their nest.

So, Merlin had escaped.

He must have - it would be too much of a coincidence if the warning bells signified anything else.

Had something gone wrong with the magic inhibitor? Or - Arthur shifted uneasily - considering what he knew about Gaius' loyalty towards his ward, could Gaius have begun exchanging it for something else on purpose? Did Gaius think Arthur would protect him if he had?

With something slowly twisting in his guts, he found he didn't wonder at all at _why_ Merlin had escaped. He already knew that.

He did wonder, however, how long it would take Merlin to come.

And what he would do once he got there.

* * *

 _Day Ten_

Gwen almost dropped her porridge bowl into her lap when they barged in - slamming the door to Gaius' chambers into the wall, piling in - three, four, five red cloaks and shining helmets, swords drawn. She drew a sharp breath and stopped herself just in time from instinctively backing into the corner.

They'd known this might happen. They'd talked about it, when she came running breathlessly up the stairs to his chambers in the bleak morning hours, having heard the warning bells sound all over Camelot, not knowing _exactly_ what had happened, but knowing _enough_ to fear for Gaius' safety.

He'd said Merlin must have thought of something - he'd said that the magic inhibitor had never worked, he'd stayed to protect Gaius, to protect the last shreds of Arthur's trust in him, but he'd been able to escape all along, had just waited to think of a good course of action. He'd said, when Gwen protested, that even if Merlin _hadn't_ actually thought of a plan, and had only escaped to get away (something Gwen had found at least within the realms of possibility), he - Gaius - was too old to run, too old to even try. He'd said that even if he was jailed on suspicion of assisting a dangerous prisoner escape, he had always been good at talking.

He'd said, white in the face and looking as if he regretted every decision he'd ever made, that if the worst happened he deserved it all, considering what they'd done to Merlin. And she knew he must have seen _something_ , something worse than she'd seen, something worse than they'd already known had happened, down in the dungeons late last night when he was _finally_ allowed to see Merlin, but she didn't dare ask what it was.

And so she couldn't protest anymore.

But she _had_ refused to leave him alone, as he'd tried to make her - instead, she'd insisted on cooking him breakfast, and served him first. She'd just now glared at him until he put the first spoonful of porridge into his mouth, before turning around towards the pot and taking some for herself, sitting down across him at the small table.

In Merlin's usual spot.

And then they'd come.

"Seize him", Sir Leon said shortly, somehow managing to look neither at her, nor at Gaius, nor at anyone else in the suddenly very crowded room.

Gaius used one hand on the table to steady himself as he rose, carefully putting his spoon back into his porridge with his other hand.

Gwen thought her heart might break for him, but she didn't reach out to him, didn't say _No, Sir Leon, please, you know this is wrong_ or _You can't do this_ or _Hasn't over thirty years of loyal service proved anything to King Uther?_ or anything else either - because there were _lives_ on the line - and the lives in the most precarious balance wasn't hers, so it wasn't her call to make, and she didn't like it but they'd _talked_ about this, and she'd _agreed_ to stay safe. At least she tried to tell herself that was the reason for her silence. Her hands felt sweaty - she hadn't done anything, _anything_ wrong, she _knew_ that, but she'd been charged with crimes she hadn't committed before, and all her instincts told her to look down, make herself small, inconspicuous.

How lucky for her, then, she thought bitterly, that _what was promised_ to do and _what was easy_ to do was the same thing. How cruel, that it didn't also mean that it was the _right_ thing to do.

"And what, may I ask, have I been charged with, Sir Leon?" Gaius asked, sounding almost unconcerned to Gwen's ears.

Sir Leon hesitated for a brief moment, before he replied in his ever steady voice: "Aiding the escape of a known sorcerer. Treason to the Crown."

At that, Gwen did look up.

She took a sick sense of comfort from the fact that, as they led Gaius away, Leon looked as doubting, as conflicted, as she'd hoped he would.

* * *

 _Day Ten_

The silence was highly uncomfortable. Arthur wished his father would leave, because surely there was no more to say - no _use_ in staying.

He'd already said _It is as we feared, the sorcerer has escaped_ , and Arthur had said _So I surmised, Father._ Rather drily, at that, but his father hadn't picked up on it in a rare bout of distraction.

He'd already said _Send for the guards if you hear the slightest thing, see even an inkling of something being wrong_ , and Arthur had replied _Yes, Father._

He'd already said, as if it _hadn't been made clear_ by everything else he'd said before, _We suspect the sorcerer will try to contact you, to try to hurt you, now that you've been kept from him_ , and Arthur had said _I'd expect so_.

Then there had been silence, as Uther paced, and Arthur stood very still next to his chair, watching the light shift slowly in the room, watching the sun light the stone walls orange and yellow as the sun rose higher over the horizon.

And Arthur hadn't asked a large number of things, because either he already knew what his father would say, or he didn't want to know the answer. And the way his father paced through the room - angrily, harshly, warily, worried - made him feel like he was twelve again, and had done something during his training which had hurt him in some way and that his father disapproved of his clumsiness, or as if he was nine and had just survived an (admittedly weak) attempt on his life by a neighbouring kingdom. As if he should keep very quiet, and wait for his father to sort everything out.

And he wasn't sure whether he wanted his father to sort everything out this time.

And so he didn't ask _Is he in any state to do me damage?_ because he didn't want to hear a _Yes, he's shown he's highly dangerous and capable to take whatever we throw at him_ , and he didn't want to hear a _No, most likely he's not in any state to do magic at all, but we must be careful all the same_.

And so he didn't ask _How did he escape the dungeons?_ because he knew the answer would be _With evil magic tricks, of course_ , and that hadn't been what he was wondering, but it was all the answer he was likely to get, because he couldn't follow it up with _Yes, but did he hurt anyone while he did it?_ because using magic on someone in itself was hurting someone, in his father's eyes.

And so he didn't ask _Why hasn't Gaius been to see me yet, if Merlin has escaped?_ because he suspected what the answer would be, and the twelve-year-old inside him didn't want to _quarrel_ with his father, and the five-year-old inside him didn't want to hear where Gaius _must_ be by now.

"Well", Uther said eventually, stopping by the table opposite Arthur. "I… have a search to oversee." He sounded detached, Arthur thought. He envied him the luxury. Arthur felt entirely too linked to it all - every dirty little part of it.

"Yes."

With a last glance at his son, Uther turned and departed.

Arthur thought he might have seen something like fear in his eyes as he left. Fear for Arthur's sake, or fear what Arthur might become, he did not know. Either was likely.

Either, Arthur thought, as he slowly unclenched his jaw and lowered his tense shoulders, would make sense.

And Merlin had not yet come.

* * *

 _Day Ten_

She finally found Sir Leon on the training grounds late that afternoon, drilling three of the youngest squires in Camelot in what seemed to be exercises on how to hold their shields correctly. He had his back to her, so she couldn't quite tell the details of his instructions, but judging by the sweaty faces of the squires, they had been active for quite some time.

She stopped at the edge of the grass and stood to wait. No one was expecting her - she'd seen to all of Gaius' patients in his stead already, and most other servants, including the steward, seemed to be at a loss at what to do with her anyway, so she wasn't assigned many chores these days. Normally, that bothered her - she felt so _useless_ when she went about the castle without a purpose, and then demanded to be paid for work she _wanted_ to do but often had to ask for since no one remembered to give it to her - but today it made her grateful. It gave her time to do what mattered more.

Today, the rest of the servants hadn't even wanted to meet her eyes. News spread very quickly in Camelot. She'd be surprised if not everyone working in the castle knew she'd been there when they came for Gaius. She would also be surprised if there weren't at least a dozen wild ideas regarding _why_ she'd been there. News weren't the only things that spread quickly - rumours did too, founded as well as unfounded.

The boys were all red in the face with exertion and one of them seemed to be on the verge of tears when Leon at last said something that made them scramble for their shields and get away as fast as they could. Apparently, Sir Leon was in a foul mood. Normally, he was rumoured to be one of the best with the squires - patient, taking any question seriously and never one to treat the boys badly unnecessarily - but she supposed even he had a right to be… _out of sorts_ after the past week's events.

Gwen took a deep breath, and walked over the grass towards him anyway.

She was all alone now. Morgana was gone, Merlin had been sentenced to death but now disappeared, Gaius had been taken to the dungeons to await sentencing, and Prince Arthur… well, he had enough on his mind anyway, without having to worry about her too. If he would. Worry about her, that is.

The least she could do was to try to help. Help who, she hadn't entirely decided on, but surely she could help _someone._ But to do that, she needed to _know,_ as much as she possibly could find out.

Leon hadn't turned when the squires left - had stayed looking out over the road that led to the castle gates, where people slowly dragged their carts of cheese, ale or firewood for the palace kitchens; where the occasional noblewoman or handmaiden passed on her way to the market; where a scribe slowly steered his horse away from the muddiest parts of the road on his way to the palace; where stable hands and bakers' girls and farmers' boys ran on errands or just for the sake of their most recent game. He turned briefly to see who approached when he heard her coming, but turned back towards the road instead of facing her. Awkwardly, she opted for standing beside him, too far away for it to be considered intimate, but close enough to talk.

She knew what he was searching for. Normalcy. She wondered if he found it.

"They say you were on guard when he disappeared."

"So they say", Sir Leon agreed.

"Were you?" she blurted, not _caring_ enough to be subtle.

He turned to look at her then - looked her in the eyes in a way he'd hardly ever done, as if they were equals. He looked exhausted - dark around the eyes, mouth in a thin line of control and concentration, and the line between his eyes that appeared when he frowned seemed to have been permanently etched onto his forehead.

"Sir Leon, were you?" she asked again, wishing she instead could have said _Perhaps you should rest for a bit, Sir Leon_ or _You know what, it doesn't matter_.

"I must have been", Sir Leon said in his even voice that rarely matched his words these days, "But I don't remember it, as I was asleep."

"You fell _asleep_?" Gwen asked somewhat incredulously - then the pieces connected. "You were _spelled_ asleep."

"So I assume." Leon somehow both looked ashamed and defiant at the same time. "I don't fall asleep on my post. In fact, I don't think I've ever fallen asleep that quickly before unless under the influence of magic."

"Oh, I'm sure!" And she was - she didn't doubt Leon's trustworthiness. "But… then you don't know anything else, do you? How he actually…?"

"We were woken by the guard change just before dawn. The door to was unlocked, but the key was still on the table. No one had heard or seen anything", Leon said.

"So he escaped with magic." Well, she'd already known that, but she still felt her worry for Gaius settle heavier in her stomach - _he'd_ been responsible for keeping Merlin's magic safe, and in the eyes of everyone, in the eyes of the _King_ … he'd failed. _And_ , with something like terror - _by all the gods, where was Merlin now?_ "Where… does the King think he's gone?"

Leon's eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "You're asking an awful lot of questions, Gwen."

She felt her cheeks heat, but raised her chin. "Yes." She didn't say _You've now kept two of my friends locked up and I think I deserve the answers_ or _You should be better than this you shouldn't be comfortable with it either_ or _I trust my many questions are not getting back to the King_ , but she suspected he heard at least some of that anyway.

He sighed - weary? pitying? already regretting what he must do? - and then shook his head, slowly. "The King believes he's still trying to reach Prince Arthur, and has doubled the guard outside his rooms."

"He thinks he's still in the castle, doesn't he?" Gwen asked, but she already knew the answer. The amount of guards she'd seen searching every inch of the castle, just while she was looking for Leon, had already made her suspect as much. When Leon nodded, she added, more cautiously than she'd spoken so far: "Do you think he's right?"

Leon was silent for a long time. When he spoke, he looked faintly ill.

"I don't know why you're asking these things, Guinevere, and I don't want to know. But _I_ think, if Merlin's really as smart as he must be, considering he's been hiding _magic_ all this time… he'd have gone as far away from here by now as he can. Next time, it won't just be fingers, and he's in no state to fight back."

 _...what?_

"...fingers?" She didn't recognise her voice.

"They cut them off", Leon said, meeting her eyes in a way that made her unable to look away. "So, if you know something _I don't_ , Guinevere, if you still somehow think he's innocent, and if you have a way to contact him -"

"I _don't_ ", she interrupted, feeling cold sweat break out, _that would be treason, that would sentence her to death, did he truly think that, oh Gods they'd cut his_ fingers _off and they could so easily do the same to her - but it_ was _what she had wanted to do, wasn't it, to see for herself and talk to him and if Sir Leon actually thought that he should turn her in, he_ would _turn her in, he'd done nothing for Merlin or Gaius, it hadn't mattered that he'd known them, she'd die -_

"- _if you do_ ," Leon spoke over her, "you should tell him that."

Her thought still reeling, she couldn't make sense of that. "Tell him what?" she asked, her breath caught in her throat, and she thought she might cry or throw up but she _pressed it down_ because she had _known_ she was all alone, and _this was no time to panic, Guinevere -_

"Tell him that if he stays, he'll be killed." Leon's voice held no room for uncertainty. "Tell him that he should get as far away as he can, and never return."

Her guts twisted. "But, Sir Leon", she whispered, "I - I don't know where he is."

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Good. Keep it that way."

He picked up his own shield from the grass, and started to walk back towards the castle.

She wanted _so badly_ , as she felt tears burn behind her eyes, felt her knees begin to shake, and put a hand over her heart to steady herself, to follow his advice. She wanted all of her fingers, wanted all of her blood to stay inside the fragile shell of her skin. _She wanted to live_.

Eventually, she took a deep breath, let her hand fall back to her side, and turned to back as well. She thought she knew one or two places the guards wouldn't think to look, but where Merlin might be. Because Merlin wouldn't leave Arthur - not now.

But she must persuade him to.

 _She wanted him to live, too._

* * *

 _Some Time After The Incident_

Somehow, amidst all the noise, confusion, and pain, he'd managed to fall asleep. When Merlin realised this - by realising he'd just now woken up, so he must have been asleep - he let out something that he'd call a sob if anyone else had made the sound, but which he'd been sure had been a relieved small laugh originally, when it rose from his chest.

He'd done it, then. He'd _escaped_ , and _even though_ he'd actually _fallen asleep_ and so hadn't been able to protect himself, no one had found him.

He supposed that was just sheer dumb luck, and not really something he could attribute to his hiding skills. He still felt a surge of pride, all the same.

He'd been frightened half out of his wits, when he slowly gone through the door he'd unlocked, into the dark hallway, trusting the shadows to hide both the door which was now ajar, and himself. He'd been scared they'd see him.

He'd been scared of what he might do to protect himself, if they did.

In the end, he hadn't had to worry. It hadn't even been hard - laughably easy, as if nothing had happened, as if it was any normal day, as if this was what he was _born_ to do, as if _magic_ and not _blood_ ran through his veins. His magic responded to his will, despite the fever, despite the pain, as if it was the most natural thing in the world - and perhaps it was. With a hand reached towards them that shook more than he'd liked and a soft " _Swefe nu"_ , the three guards (one _had_ been Leon, just as he'd thought) had leaned their heads against the wall or their crossed arms on the table before them, and instantly fallen asleep. Sneaking past them was easy, after that - he'd even remembered in his fevered haze to shut the door to the torture chamber behind him, to maybe - _maybe_ \- buy himself some time before anyone would realise he was gone.

Walking had been painful. Every step up the servants' stairs from the guard room had made his back twist and burn and made his breath come in short gasps he desperately struggled to keep silent; made his hand pulse with stabs of heat, then cold, then heat again - but he'd carefully kept his eyes off of it, kept them looking upwards, _not at the hand_. He didn't want to see. If it bled, the bandage Gaius (most likely Gaius) had dressed the… _wound_ with, should stop it from dripping on the stairs, leaving a trail for others to follow. Should.

Once he'd thought that, though, he worried more, because _should_ didn't equal _did_. He imagined he felt the white linen getting soaked; imagined he could hear tiny _drip-drops_ of blood on the stepping stones; imagined he felt weaker and weaker and would probably pass out _right here immediately_ from blood loss and fever and would be found due to the neat little blood trail he had left behing and dragged back to the _hellhole_ Uther had created in his dungeons; imagined they'd take his hand the way they'd taken his fingers; imagined going to the pyre weak from blood loss and fever and not remembering any of the spells that had kept him alive so far.

He had realised he was breathing too loudly, too quickly, and that his face was wet with tears, contorted into a stiff grimace of panic and horror, when he came to the first little landing between the dungeons and a corridor on the ground floor.

Very slowly, he cradled his now _pounding_ hand to his chest ( _don't look you don't need to look_ ), wincing as the movement tore at a scab on his back, and closed his eyes, trying to push back any further whimpers, trying to push back tears.

 _Breathe in. Breathe out._

His hastily thought-out plan had been to get up the servants' stairs to the kitchen, sneak out into the herb gardens, and from there climb over the low wall to the blessed _freedom_ of the outer courtyard, where the stables were - get a horse, any horse, and ride for his freedom. Then he could heal. Then he'd get time to _think_.

Then, he'd have escaped.

 _Breathe in. Breathe out._

He could still do that - or, he could _try_. But he had been so, so tired - more tired than he thought - and the short climb halfway up the stairs had taken too much out of him, more than he had to spare.

 _Breathe in. Breathe out._

It wasn't strange, really - he should have anticipated it. Had he been able to think clearly, he probably would have. He hadn't eaten or drunk properly in _days_. He had lost ( _might still be losing_ ) a lot of blood. At least one wound was infected enough for him to have a fever. He'd faint. He'd be found. _He'd be killed_. He needed rest. He needed _time_.

And he had been afraid.

For himself. For Gaius.

And… there had been that insistent, nagging thought that just _wouldn't leave him alone_.

 _Breathe in._

Arthur.

On one hand - Arthur hadn't come. Arthur had given Merlin _nothing_ to let him know what he was thinking. Arthur hadn't sent word. Hell, Arthur could have given the order to torture him, for all Merlin knew. On the other ( _somewhat smaller now_ , he'd thought somewhat frantically) hand, Arthur had been - might still be - _locked in_ , whatever that meant. Gaius had said he was _conflicted_. Maybe he needed rescuing from Uther too. Maybe he'd be willing to listen, if only Merlin could get to him.

And therein lay the biggest problem - Merlin couldn't give up.

He mustn't. Uther would win. And so, he _couldn't_ leave Arthur without an explanation. He _owed_ him that much. But if he tried to go to him now…

 _(He'd be caught he'd burn they'd cut his other fingers off they'd cut his hands off he'd hurt someone he'd be unable to keep in his magic and he'd kill them all he'd burn on the pyre and Arthur would watch)_

 _...breathe out._

 _Breathe in._

 _Breathe out._

Gritting his teeth, Merlin had finally ( _don't look don't look_ ) looked down on his hand, and let out a part-sob, part-laugh, part-whine ( _like a kicked dog_ ). It was misshapen, now, even if the worst of it must be hidden behind the bandages - but while it had bled, it hadn't bled nearly as much as his panicked mind would have had him think. He'd… just have to get used to it, was all.

Thanking all heavenly powers that still might be on his side that he hadn't been leaving the macabre blood trail he'd feared before (and feeling oddly childish for worrying about it in the first place), he'd chosen the side door into the laundry rooms instead of continuing upwards towards the kitchen and his escape route.

And so he'd found himself a hiding place in the deep closet underneath the servants' stairs that continued upwards, nestled in against the curved stone wall. He'd climbed in between the copper tubs the servants used for laundry and in behind the shelves, gasping as his back struck the shelf above him and sent flares of pain through his body - and with only a moment's hesitation, shut the door firmly behind him and heard the lever latch with a soft _clonk_. He could open it with magic, he'd told himself. It was silly, being afraid of something as easy to get away from as _being locked in_ was for him. And so, he had decided he _wasn't_ afraid.

So there.

Merlin had huddled up on a spare linen sheet that must have been used for drying the tubs out, as far from the closet door he could, as safe as he thought he could be anywhere in Camelot. They should, he'd thought, expect him to either flee, get to Arthur, or at least hide somewhere a lot further away from the dungeons than he was now. Anyone opening the door who weren't a servant shouldn't know the closet was as deep as it was - and hopefully, none of the servants would even open the door until laundry day, when they needed the big copper tubs next. And laundry day wasn't tomorrow. He hadn't quite been able to figure out when it was, considering the amount of time he'd been unconscious lately, but he should have at least two, possibly three or four days, until laundry day.

He'd lain shaking and shivering on the floor for a long time, not quite able to relax - until the warning bells had gone off. It had taken all his willpower not to move then - he'd _known_ this would happen, it was _fine_ , he'd _expected this_ , he'd _planned_ for this - but all the same, it appeared he hadn't quite been prepared for it.

It had woken the entirety of the castle, it seemed, and Merlin had heard servants and guards alike run up and down the servant's stairs _just above his head_ , not even _two feet_ away, and at one point someone had entered the laundry room - but they'd just run straight through, unlocking the side door the maids used to fetch water, and continued outside - assuming he'd escaped on foot through the winding streets of the upper town.

He had lain as still as he could, focusing on _breathing in breathing out breathing in breathing out_ and tried to ignore it all. If they found him, he'd have to run. But they probably wouldn't. _Breathing in breathing out_.

And, it had seemed, he'd been so successful he'd actually fallen asleep - or possibly passed out from fever and sheer exhaustion.

He couldn't hear any of the ruckus that had followed the warning bells - in fact, the warning bells were silent too, now that he thought about it - and no one seemed to be in the laundry room, or walking on the stairs above him. Blessed silence. His head hurt like all hell - the fever, most likely - and his throat felt thick and swollen when he swallowed. He hadn't tried to move yet, but he wasn't looking forward to it - Merlin rather doubted infected wounds got better from sleep only. _And doubted even more cut off fingers grew back_. But he needed water - _desperately_ needed it. Hell, he'd even take what passed for beer in the taverns in the lower town, if only he could have something to drink. He suspected he should want food too, because he wasn't quite sure when he ate last, but he wasn't hungry at all.

That should probably worry him.

Considering the lack of noise, it must be nighttime again. Perfect, really - or, well, exactly nothing about this was _perfect_ , but he'd take whatever small mercies there was.

In just a little while, he'd climb out from between the shelves and the copper tubs, and start finding his way up the stairs to the kitchen. There might be a maid tending the fire or setting a dough, if he was unlucky, but he could spell her to sleep. Then he could find water.

Then he could find Arthur.

In just a little while.

He'd just wait until he could feel his hands, first - right now, it seemed all sensation ended where the heavy iron had held him suspended by his wrists.

And until his teeth would stop rattling.

And until the fire in his back felt slightly, just slightly more manageable.

Just a little while longer here, where he was safe.

* * *

Swefe nu = And so, I send you to sleep

* * *

 _A/N: If anyone's still waiting, I apologise for the wait!_

 _Poor Gaius, but there really wasn't anything to be done about it... And, of course, still poor Merlin. Gwen-and-Leon scenes have accidentallty become a favourite to write. We'll see how many there's room for, but I have a lot of fun with those._

 _Next chapter will bring more Arthur, more Merlin, and even more situations where there aren't really any easy answers._


	8. Impossible To Tell

_**Chapter Eight: Impossible To Tell**_

* * *

 _Day Eleven_

She found the bandages around mid-day the next day.

She held them as if they might suddenly ignite, or bite her, or disappear.

He'd been here - behind the copper basin, behind the shelves (there was blood on the bottom shelf, that's how she'd found the bandages in the first place, a tiny clue), underneath the stairs.

She wondered three things.

One - why he had kept himself from bolting out the back door of the kitchen to his freedom, and instead cowered in hiding, wounded and surrounded by enemies. Was it fear? Hate? A wish for revenge? Loyalty? She didn't know.

Two - whether he would ever forgive anyone at all dwelling in Camelot.

And three - why on _Earth_ Arthur hadn't yet sounded the alarm for his recapture, because _surely_ Merlin must have gone to him, since he wasn't here anymore.

* * *

 _Between Day Ten and Day Eleven_

There was a dull _thud_ from the corridor. Then another. Then a startled yelp, which was cut short - and another sound of flesh and chainmail meeting the stone floor.

Then there was silence.

Arthur wasn't surprised - not at all, actually, wasn't this what he'd been waiting for all day, what he'd been expecting ever since sunrise and even more since sunset, what he'd imagined in the slow, dark and hours between then and now?

He tried to force his hands still, his heartbeat calm, his face impassive - but it was hard to stay seated in the chair by his desk when his blood ran quicker and hotter through his veins, preparing him for battle; hard to stay silent when he was _furious_ with _him_ for having been able to do this _the whole time they'd known each other_ and having _hid it from him_ ; hard to let his face show nothing as something primal, childish, deep down quivered with fear of the unknown, unseen, unwanted.

The heavy bolt was pulled away slowly and silently, and Arthur wondered disbelievingly whether the intruder thought he was _asleep_. How could he be? How could _anyone_ think he would be?

Then the door opened just a fraction and a shape of someone tall, thin and wary appeared, dark as a shadow against the faint flickering lights of the candles in the corridor outside, stepped inside and carefully began to shut the door behind them - and everything - _everything everything all of it every thought everything -_ warring inside of Arthur suddenly fell silent.

He felt… empty.

And cold.

And as the door shut with a familiar _click_ and the shape took a careful step further into the room, he rose silently from his chair.

"You've come", he said. Not loudly. Not accusingly. Not with hate, nor with appreciation. Not in any way at all - just as a statement of fact.

The shape straightened immediately, in a way that looked too quick, too harsh, reminding Arthur of a puppet on a string, when its master suddenly had jerked it upright.

Maybe that was how it had felt.

He heard a soft intake of breath. And then: "I have."

There was silence for a while. Normally, _he_ would continue talking, and Arthur found that he without a thought waited for a continuation. Normally, there was no end of continuations, explanations and excuses. Normally, _he_ just _wouldn't shut up_.

But this was in no way a normal situation.

"Why?" Arthur finally asked, when no more was said.

After a painfully long moment, Merlin said quietly, in a voice that sounded stilted and stiff: "I don't know."

And Arthur thought _Don't be daft, Merlin._

And Arthur thought _But you_ must _know, because_ one _of us must and I don't._

And Arthur thought _It's because I didn't come to you, isn't it, even when you asked me -_ begged _me to_?

And Arthur thought _Come to see if your_ pet king _is still where you left him, where he's supposed to be?_

And Arthur thought _Then why did you do whatever you just did to the guards outside the door?_

And Arthur thought _Well then if you don't know, then how should_ I _know, Merlin?_

The shape of his manservant by the door - merely an outline, but Arthur could see that the outline wasn't wearing a shirt and he wondered where and when he'd lost it - could have been a statue in its lack of movement. It barely looked as if he was breathing.

And Arthur thought that maybe the reason it had taken Merlin so long to answer him was for the same reason it took him so long to answer now - because there was _too much_ to say, and all of it felt as if it should be said but not all could, and if the wrong thing was said something would _break_.

Arthur didn't like it.

"Did you come to extract your revenge on me?" he said, more bitingly than he had intended.

"...for what?" Merlin sounded genuinely confused.

"For-" _knowing you were tortured and doing nothing about it - being the Crowned Prince of a kingdom persecuting you and your kind - all the times I threw you in the stocks -_ "...not coming when you asked me to."

"...you know I asked for you." Like Arthur had said _you've come_ earlier, it was merely a statement of facts.

"Yes." He could have added _Guinevere took your message_ or _Gaius told me_ or _Of course I knew_ or _I'm well informed of what goes on in my Father's own dungeons, thank you_ but didn't.

"No."

In some way, Arthur's confusion must have been obvious to Merlin - and how, Arthur had no idea - because there was just the tiniest hint of amusement in Merlin's raspy voice when he clarified: "No, not revenge."

"Then to renew the -" and the word _magic_ stuck in his throat, so he changed tracks - "to renew whatever you've done to my blood."

He wasn't surprised, though, when Merlin's replied in a hoarse whisper: "...I haven't done anything to your blood."

"It makes a _bloody rock glow_!" he hissed, not able to help it. " _Someone's_ done _something_ to it!"

Silence for a while. "Wasn't me."

And Arthur found he almost, _almost_ believed him. Found he _wanted_ to believe him.

"Then what do you want? Assistance in your escape?" Arthur found his voice was still harder than he wished, but he couldn't seem to do anything about that. He _was_ angry, and by the Gods Merlin should know by know how he was when he was angry.

"No."

"Then _what?!"_

Arthur accidentally jarred the desk when he, without thinking, took a step towards the dark shape that was Merlin - wanting to _see him_ , wanting to _understand_ , wanting to _hit him_. The ink bottle fell to the floor and broke. Merlin's head snapped around towards the door at the sound, and there was a moment of tense silence, as Merlin seemed to listen for something and Arthur instinctively stilled, as if they were on a hunt and Merlin might be on the right track for a deer or a boar.

Nothing.

And then, without warning, the dark blotch of his manservant the sorcerer fell to the floor without a sound.

 _Sometime After The Incident_

He could sense, rather than see, Arthur sitting on the floor just out of reach from him, when he woke.

He didn't think he'd been out of it for very long - it didn't feel that way, at least. Must have just dipped beneath the surface of consciousness for a moment. He still remembered everything, including his fall. _A refreshing change, really_ , he reflected with something very close to bitterness, _all things considered_.

He knew what had caused his quick fainting spell - he'd startled at the noise when Arthur broke something by the desk, and by instinct turned to listen for noises from the guards outside the door (who were, after all, only under a sleeping spell and _could_ awaken at any time), and by doing so had twisted the wounds on his back. The pain had apparently been enough to make him pass out. They really must be infected, then. He didn't think he'd have fainted otherwise.

He didn't dare lift his head, fearing he'd pass out again, but twisted his neck so he could look straight at his prince - or rather the shape of him.

"What are you doing?" he managed to rasp out in Arthur's direction.

"Sitting." Arthur's voice had lost some of the cutting fury which had been part of every word.

Merlin felt a stab of irritation. "I know that. Why aren't you… I don't know, _arresting_ me?"

"You'd only break out again."

"Don't think I could", Merlin admitted.

Arthur didn't say anything.

He'd thought… well, he'd thought that Arthur would make it easier - take the lead of the conversation, as he usually did. Accuse him, yell at him and give him a chance to explain, give him prompts he could use as starting points because there was really _too much_ to say, wasn't there, _too many ways_ to start this conversation and _fie,_ he needed _help_ knowing how to do it. He'd thought Arthur would say _I trusted you_ or _Don't take a step closer, traitor_ or _Have you hidden this from me all along_ or _You owe me an explanation_. Ideally, Arthur could have said something like _I understand not all magic can be evil now_ or _Damn it Merlin, you're hurt, sit down_ or _Don't worry, Merlin, I'll sort this out_ , but he understood why he hadn't said any of those things.

He'd thought that once he _got to Arthur_ , things would… sort themselves out.

This Arthur - this silent, stoic, _regal_ Arthur sitting _slumped_ on the cold stone floor who only asked questions about _why he'd come_ (to _see_ him, to _talk to him,_ to _make it better,_ couldn't he _see_ that) and hadn't even insulted him _once_ … Merlin didn't quite know what to do with that Arthur.

And so, the knot in his stomach - the hard, heavy replacement for his guts which made him _constantly_ feel like he was going to cry, took over. "Why didn't you come?" he whispered.

And, to his great shame, he had to take several steadying breaths and _force_ away the burning behind his eyelids which spoke of tears instead of the fire of magic.

Arthur _must_ have noticed, but to Merlin's great relief, he didn't mock him. "I haven't… been allowed to", he said instead, slowly, as if he was selecting some words carefully but discarding most. "There were… worries about your… influence, over me. What I might do."

Merlin wondered whether he meant _What you might force me to do through magic_ or _What I might do for you as my manservant_ but didn't ask.

"So you did nothing." He knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn't _help_ it. He blinked harder, but still felt something warm and wet slip out of the corner of his eye. _Damn it_. At least it was dark enough that Arthur shouldn't be able to see.

Oddly enough, Arthur let that slide too. "I did nothing", he agreed, with an even voice.

"Did you believe I'd cursed you?" Not until he'd said it did he notice he'd said _did_ , not _do_.

"I did."

Throwing all caution to the wind, he whispered: "And now?"

Arthur was silent for several breaths. He shifted slightly on the floor, and it made Merlin remember how cold the stones were - and as on cue, he started shivering.

"It's impossible to tell."

He should have expected it, but he'd hoped _so much_ for something else. "I understand", he still forced himself to say, because he _did_ , truly.

Arthur was silent for a long time.

Merlin lay still. His back didn't hurt when he lay still. And if he didn't speak, he wouldn't have to open his mouth again and be reminded of his chapped lips (they took an _unreasonable_ amount of focus from him, the way they chafed and cracked - one would think he had worse things to worry about but honestly), his clumsy tongue, his throat _aching_ for water - so he didn't speak either.

And in a way, he'd done what he could now. He'd put himself at Arthur's mercy. If Arthur wanted to hear him speak, he'd tell him. If he didn't, Merlin didn't have the strength to force him anymore. And if that was a grim thought - well. Nothing to be done about it, he supposed.

He wondered whether this was giving up, or whether it was being realistic.

He never used to do either.

How things had changed.

"Where will you go?"

A sharp stab of pain that had nothing to do with either his back, his wrists, his lips, his hand. "There's nowhere to go."

"Oh, come on, don't be so dramatic", Arthur said in that annoyed (and annoying) voice of his, and for a second Merlin could almost pretend everything was just as usual. "You can't stay, you know that."

Yes, he knew that. He wasn't very fond of Arthur pointing it out, though, because he couldn't stay, but neither could he _go_.

Arthur needed him. He just might not know it yet.

And by all the _gods_ , he wished it was easier to think. To breathe. To speak. This would have been so much _easier_ if everything didn't hurt, spun, flickered.

"You'd think you'd have sat up by now", Arthur continued when Merlin didn't reply, still sounding annoyed.

Annoyed was good. Better than furious. Better than hurt.

"You'd think you'd have _noticed_ by now that doing anything at all is kind of difficult," Merlin snapped, but he knew his voice wasn't half as strong as Arthur's, and he wasn't really angry. Just… tired.

There was a moment's pause. Then the shape of Arthur rose, and slowly, deliberately walked the three steps it took to reach him.

"You're hurt", and Arthur's voice sounded odd. As if something was wrong with his throat. "Your back is bleeding."

"Yes." He hadn't felt it until now - not quite - it was hard to make sense of anything he was feeling and right now he was mostly _cold_ , but now when it was said, he felt at least two trickles of blood down his ribs, possibly continuing onto the floor, forming tiny pools by his stomach.

"Why didn't you run?"

He could identify what it was that had caught in Arthur's throat now. Revulsion. Towards what, he dimly wondered. He couldn't be _entirely_ sure it wasn't towards him. But he didn't think so. Against the use of torture, maybe. Arthur was usually very… humane. He would be a good king one day.

"I... had to see you." He didn't say anything else, because what else was there to say? But it sounded silly, when he said it like that. Sprawled on the floor, half-naked, shivering with cold, injured and feverish, a fugitive with a death sentence over his head and barely able to focus enough to do magic - who would ever think, in a situation such as his, _I'll escape soon, I'll just go and have a quick chat to my employer first, and then if I haven't_ died _I can figure something out_?

Arthur turned and walk away, and Merlin felt strangely lonely, even though nothing of substance had changed. A small _click_. Then another. And then the tiny flame caught the wick of the candle still on the desk.

Arthur's eyes met Merlin's - hesitant, reluctant. Then they, involuntarily, inevitably, shifted to Merlin's side and his sprawled arm, and widened in horror.

Merlin closed his own. He didn't want to see Arthur seeing.

So he hadn't known, then.

That, at least, was good.

That was _something_.

"Merlin", Arthur whispered.

Only because it was the first time Arthur had said his name since… well, since it _happened,_ did Merlin open his eyes again and look at Arthur.

"Yes", he whispered in reply.

"They cut your fingers off?" And it shouldn't have been a question, but it was.

So Merlin said: "Yes."

There was silence for a while.

"Couldn't you have stopped them?"

It didn't sound like Arthur meant it like an accusation. It still felt like one, and it settled just beneath his heart, like nausea, like disappointment. "I could", he whispered.

Because he could have. But he hadn't.

Arthur seemed to break free of whatever hold he'd been in, and took the steps needed to reach Merlin. He set the candle down next to him.

And with a determined look on his face that was so familiar, so _Arthur_ , he reached out his hands - and they didn't shake, didn't hesitate - and grabbed Merlin under his armpits, helped him up to a sitting position, and then helped him stand.

"I swear, Merlin", Arthur said between clenched teeth (and Merlin too clenched his own to keep from yelling or groaning or passing out again from the pain but knew the breathless _keening_ sound must come from him) as they moved towards the small door that led to the servant's antechamber Merlin had never known anyone to use, "I don't understand the first thing about you, and I never have."

* * *

 _Day Eleven_

Arthur had, in a rare bout of exhaustion, cowardice or stupidity - or all three - neglected to check on the guards outside his door.

He hadn't asked Merlin, because he hadn't wanted to hear _I killed them_ , if that was the answer - because it _might_ be the answer, and because if it _was_ , he couldn't in good conscience hide him any longer.

And he'd realised when he'd _seen_ , actually seen his wrists, his back, his _hand_ and his _face_ pale and sweaty with fever, that he did need to hide him. There were many things he needed, come to that. He needed water, so Arthur gave it to him, and he drank a little and breathed heavily when he put the cup down. He needed _care_ , but Arthur didn't know anything about backs that had been _flogged_ and then left to fester; about hands that had been _mutilated_ and left to bleed - so despite the very real risk that he still might die, Arthur did nothing about either of those things, and Merlin didn't say anything about them either. He didn't say much at all, frankly, and Arthur was oddly grateful for that.

And so, despite the fact that Merlin had said he hadn't come for his help - and despite the fact that Arthur had said he couldn't stay, he had hidden him. Not very good, though, he feared - there simply _was_ no good place to hide a full-grown man, if a bit on the thin side, in his chambers. He'd done the next best thing, and put him in the servant's antechamber which no one ever used anymore, since Merlin lived with Gaius. Not _in_ the bed, because anyone who even just opened the door would see anyone lying _in_ the bed - but there was very little other space in the room. Hesitating only for a brief moment, he'd taken the blanket from the servant's bed, rolled Merlin up in it (by sheer force of will ignoring the hisses and gasps of pain Merlin tried and failed to hide as the rough fabric chafed against his wounds - _infected_ wounds) and promptly helped him to lie down and slide under the bed.

After a few moments of deliberation, he'd fetched one of the blankets from his own bed, and awkwardly stuck that too under the bed. The dungeons were cold, but there was no need to freeze up here.

So, when the castle began to wake up and the commotion outside his door began, Arthur had a sorcerer hidden under the bed in the adjacent room.

The first one to notice that the door was unlocked was one of the guards, presumably one there to relieve the ones who'd had the night shift. Luckily, he didn't immediately storm in, but instead shouted "Hey, it's _open_!" and then "Fetch the King, you lazy bastard!" loudly enough for Arthur to hear it through the door, which gave him a few precious moments to prepare his thoughts as the guards prepared themselves to storm the room.

It didn't _sound_ like someone, or several someones, had been found dead outside the doors. That was good. It _did_ sound like Merlin had done the same thing to these guards as he'd done to the ones in the dungeons when he escaped - spelled them asleep somehow. Well, that was both good and bad. Mostly good. But definitely bad in the sense that everyone would assume that Merlin had finally come to Arthur.

Fie, he wished he was a better liar.

"Sire!" yelled Sir Gregory's voice, and the door flew open on its hinges and hit the wall with a loud crash.

"Finally!" said Arthur and tried to sound as if he was angry, or maybe scared - but also _not_ because he was the _prince_ and was _never_ scared. "That took you long enough!"

The three armoured men that had rushed in - Sir Gregory, and two guards Arthur never had bothered to learn the names of - halted awkwardly. Sir Gregory's eyes flew across the room - the bed that hadn't been slept in; the noticable lack of a sorcerer; the pool of black ink on the floor; Arthur's dishevelled appearence.

"What - are you alright, Sire?" one of the guards asked.

"Yes, of -", but Arthur thought better of saying _of course_ because there was no _of course_ about being alright if he'd had a _dangerous sorcerer_ in the room - "-yes. Yes, I am." _Damn it all to hell, Merlin._ He sounded awkward even to his own ears, but hoped no one else noticed. "He escaped through the window. Broke the inkpot", he added, when he remembered he'd planned to say that. "Must have magi - _spelled_ the door shut before he escaped. I couldn't get out."

For a moment, everyone seemed to wait for someone else to say or do something.

 _They didn't believe him_.

 _They suspected._

 _They knew._

"Well? After him!" he barked over the noise of his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

To his surprise and relief, it worked. Sir Gregory gave him a searching look, but left with the others.

Arthur's knees almost gave out from relief when the door closed behind them.

* * *

 _Some Time After the Incident_

"Merlin. _Merlin._ "

 _Go away_.

A sound of something soft and heavy being dragged.

" _Damn it_ , Merlin, how can you be this heavy when you never eat?"

"Go away, 'Rthur." He'd know that voice anywhere - and the impatient, jerking tugs on the blankets he was wrapped in that accompanied it matched it all too well.

"Do you seriously want to be burned at the stake? Because if you don't you need to _move_."

A sharp pang of panic. _No. No, he didn't want to burn. Not like this._

He forced his eyes open and tried to ignore his pounding head, wrestling his arms free of the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped in - _that's right, he'd escaped, he'd hid,_ Arthur _had hidden him, Arthur had helped him_ -

"What's going on?" he said and tried to speak as clearly as his uncooperative tongue and dry lips would let him.

From the look Arthur gave him - part exasperation, part… was that worry? - he didn't quite succeed.

"I told the guards you'd escaped through the window, but I'm sure they'll be back to search my rooms. Father wouldn't allow anything else."

Merlin tried not to react - tried to push his initial reaction down and away, because he _wasn't_ afraid of Uther, he'd _never_ been afraid of Uther and he _wasn't_ about to start being afraid of him now - and simply nod. "He wouldn't", he agreed.

Arthur was awfully busy freeing Merlin's legs from the last blanket and helping him up to a sitting position, and didn't meet his eyes.

"So. We need a plan."

"I don't know what to do", Merlin admitted.

It felt like giving up.

And it felt like a relief.

It felt like justice.

Arthur gave him a glare. "I know. You never do."

That hurt. "You'd be surprised", Merlin murmured before he could think better of it.

Arthur stilled and looked… uneasy. Merlin immediately regretted his comment, but there was no point in apologising either - and soon afterwards, the glare was back and Arthur spoke as if nothing had been said: "So, it falls to me to come up with an idea. The way I see it, the easiest way to get you out of Camelot is the back door, through the kitchens. You could - you could dress up as someone, I'm sure I've got -"

"I'm not leaving Camelot."

"-that might fit - you're what?"

"I'm not leaving."

He couldn't. If he did, there was no point - no point in not having run in the first place; no point in even having _come_ to _Camelot_ in the first place; no point in having accepted his fate as Arthur's protector; no point in having _waited for him._ He couldn't leave. None of it would have been worth it if he left.

His prince stared at him. "There's nowhere to hide you", he said slowly, as if Merlin was either a little bit deaf or very slow. "It's just luck - and some great acting on my part - that you haven't been found yet. I - I can't hide you, Merlin."

That shouldn't have hurt - because he _knew_ that - but it did. "I know", he said, and tried to sound unbothered. He thought he mostly sounded weary. "That's - that's alright." And then he finally _, finally_ , had an idea. "I'll hide in Morgana's chambers."

"They'll search those too." Arthur sounded doubtful.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know that." He didn't quite meet Arthur's eyes. "Do - do you think Gwen would be willing to… to lie a little? For - for me? Now?"

 _Would you be able to lie for me now?_

Arthur said nothing for a while. Then: "Wouldn't that put her in danger?"

"I don't think so." _Yes._ But he _couldn't_ leave. He _couldn't._ "Not worse than she's in already, for having known me."

Arthur gave a _huff_ ing sound that could have been a scoff, or a laugh, or something else entirely. "Well, there's that."

"Do you think she would?" Merlin asked again, and forced himself to look Arthur in the eye. _And would you?_

It was Arthur's turn to look away for a while. He looked more hesitant, more thoughtful than Merlin thought the question warranted, and Merlin wondered whether Arthur heard his other question too.

When Arthur met his eyes again, he didn't look confident - not the _princely_ look Merlin was used to, when Arthur was _certain_ of something, not the calm and collected and arrogant, self-assured look he had when things still had been normal - but his voice didn't waver. "I don't know. But I think she would."

* * *

 _Day Eleven_

She still had no real plan on what to say when she finally stepped around the corner, bobbed a quick curtsey to the guards with attentive and fearful faces outside Arthur's door.

She'd thought he might say _Gwen, you can't be here, please leave_ , and to that she had no good reply, so she only hoped he wouldn't.

She'd thought he might say _Gwen, come in_ and then she'd have to say something.

She'd thought _she_ might say _Sire, has Merlin come to see you?_ but then he might say _No_ and then she couldn't quite say _That's not true is it, Sire_ \- or he might say _Yes_ and it might be followed by _Haven't you heard, I killed him as he came to kill me_ and she didn't think she could face that and she definitely didn't have a good reply to it.

She'd thought she instead might say _I just came to offer my help if you need it_ , but then he might say _Why on earth would I?_ and then she'd be hurt, and if she persisted with _Is there really nothing?_ he might say _You could bring me up something to eat_ and then she'd be even more hurt and have to leave and be no closer to finding Merlin, despite the fact that he _must_ have come to Arthur, he _must_ have. Or he might need her help with something _awful_ like moving Merlin's body.

She'd thought she'd maybe just… get in to convince Arthur Merlin was on his side, and hope Merlin hadn't yet come, that she might be in time.

She didn't think that was likely.

"I'm here with a message to the Prince", she said to the guards, and tried to sound as official as she could. As official as she'd had to sound, when she was still Morgana's maidservant.

"Who from?" one of them said.

"Sir Leon", she said, struck by sudden inspiration, and tried to sound like someone who wasn't blatantly lying to people's faces. "Regarding Gaius."

The guard looked sceptical, but knocked on the door all the same. "Sire? A message for you."

To her surprise, there was no _I don't want to be disturbed_ or even an irritated _What is it?,_ but there _were_ quick footsteps - and when the door opened a few inches, Arthur looked… _relieved_ , before he quickly schooled his features back to his usual princely mask he wore whenever people were looking.

"Guinevere. Come in, please." He opened the door wider, ignoring the guards' disapproving _sniffs_ and _hmm_ s. "I'll hear your message in my chambers, and then you may take some from me."

* * *

 _A/N: Merlin/Arthur interaction! Who would have thought I'd ever get there… More to come, of course :)_

 _I also want to thank you for all your lovely reviews. It's fantastic reading them, feeling how much you care about Merlin (and most of you Arthur too!) like I do, and knowing you want to read more. It's a real kick! It makes me glad seeing that there are other people out there who enjoy reading the kind of stories I enjoy writing. Know I treasure both your opinions, your reactions and your encouragement!_

 _Merry Christmas to you all, if you celebrate it - or happy holidays if you don't._


	9. Unexpected

**Chapter Nine: Unexpected**

* * *

 _Day Eleven_

There were servants everywhere, or so it felt to Arthur. The girl who had been assigned his chambers who he _still_ didn't know the name of was dutifully picking down off the floor and into a basket, piece by piece. A boy who couldn't be much older than fourteen or so was fighting with putting Arthur's armour back exactly the way it had been before. A man with grey hair at his temples and a tired look left with the last pails of used bathwater, careful not to spill on the floor as he squeezed through the door, only barely open. Two maids were making the bed, careful in every moment not to draw attention to themselves.

Arthur sat in the middle of the quiet chaos, and felt his heart beat wildly in his chest - palms sweaty, mouth dry, without moving a muscle. He had just committed treason - _several times over_ \- and he wasn't entirely sure _why_.

He wasn't _committed_ to anything. He had made no promises to anyone _._

He wasn't _convinced_.

Hell and damnation, he wasn't _sure_.

He might have done the right thing. Or he might not. There was no way to tell.

 _Yet_.

He rose when the guards announced his father's presence, a habit deeply ingrained enough not to have to think.

Uther looked around the room with a frown, ignoring the servants' bows and curtsies. "This place is a mess."

One of the maids blushed in humiliation, as if it had been a personal insult.

Arthur felt a sharp pang of irritation. "I _am_ aware. The guards who searched the place were… meticulous."

They hadn't primarily looked for the escaped sorcerer (because surely he was long gone), but for any kind of trace he might have left - and so left no closet uninspected, not one pillow unturned. Inscriptions. Unfamiliar objects. Familiar objects Arthur might at one point have gotten from him (he'd admitted Merlin had bought a few of the smaller items in his rooms for him over the past years, and to his dismay, all of those objects were promptly taken away).

It would have been laughable, the entire _mess_ of it - the uncertainty on the guards' faces; their _fear_ of a simple shaving knife because it had been _touched_ by a _sorcerer_ ; the unspoken knowledge that the only one in Camelot who might be able to judge what was magic in Arthur's rooms and what wasn't had been imprisoned yesterday; the way a pillow ripped a seam when someone pulled on it a little too enthusiastically and coated the room in a soft layer of down.

And all the while Arthur looked calm, collected, and answered any questions that came his way. And all the while he had known _exactly_ where they could find what they _really_ were looking for, and _he hadn't said anything about it_.

"I take it they found nothing." Uther sounded disapproving.

"Apart from whatever he's been sent to the market to buy without me being present, there was nothing to be found." Arthur didn't even have to lie. There really _had_ been nothing to find in his chambers. He was going to add _And I rather doubt my shoe wax was cursed_ but thought better of it before it could escape his lips.

Arthur had expected anger, as his father was often prone to when things didn't go his way. Instead, the king sighed and suddenly looked tired, worn, _old_ , and something in Arthur _ached_ for him, his _father_ , his _family._

"I see." Uther nodded slowly, once, as in confirmation; as if his head felt heavy to hold high. "Well. Maybe there is something. Maybe there isn't." A small pause, and then, without much hope: "He said nothing, as he fled?"

Arthur thought _I overheard him saying where he'd go to hide, so I know where we should search._

Arthur thought _He said he'd leave this place forever, and I believe him, there can be no use in searching for him anymore._

Arthur thought _He said we deserve his vengeance, and I must say I agree, Father._

Arthur said: "He said nothing."

And Uther _looked_ at him, with that piercing stare that made Arthur feel like eight years old and _very much in trouble young man_ and like he should confess any wrongdoings he was guilty or not guilty of ( _and he was guilty of a lot of wrongdoings_ ) just to escape -

\- and then Uther nodded. Again. Only once.

* * *

 _Day Eleven_

The water needed changing. Again.

She'd underestimated how much she'd need, and this time, there was nothing left in the jug, nor in the pail by the door. She'd have to walk all the way down to the courtyard for more, and she didn't dare take the shortcut through the kitchens because someone _would_ stop her and ask what she was doing and she was a _terrible_ liar really, so she'd have to go the long way around, through the guest wing.

She could make a quick detour to Gaius' rooms first, to get new bandages and honey, if nothing else. She wished she knew more about curing people, but she should use what little she _did_ know, shouldn't she?

But she'd have to leave him, in that case.

Only for half an hour, or so, a little more at most. But she would have to leave.

She took her hand, which had stilled while she thought, and the now filthy piece of cloth off Merlin's back, and he groaned softly when the light pressure disappeared.

"Merlin?" she asked softly, hesitantly.

There was no reply.

She hadn't expected one. His fever had only gotten worse over the course of the day, and now, at sunset, it had been at least two hours since he was last conscious enough to speak.

Still, it felt wrong just to _leave_ , so she said: "I'll be right back, Merlin, I promise".

He shifted slightly in his sleep, possibly in recognition of her words. Possibly in pain.

 _He needed Gaius_.

She tried to be as gentle as she could when she pulled she sheet up, letting it fall softly over his back. He still winced when the linen touched his skin. Some lashes, mercifully enough, had left no more than raised welts and bruises (she didn't doubt they hurt, not at all, they probably burned like nothing _she'd_ ever felt before, but, well, _still_ ). Some had split the skin, leaving thin lines of dried blood in the middle of the reddened skin.

But most of his back was still a bloodied _mess_ , with gashes as wide as her thumb in some places, the skin completely _gone_ in the intersections where the lashes had crossed over each other, with blood and clear fluids still trickling slowly from the constantly re-opening scabs whenever he moved - and what was _worse_ , thick yellow pus mixed with the blood leaking from the deep gashes on his right shoulder and his lower back.

She'd managed to clean almost all the dirt away. She'd managed not to cry as she did it, not even when he'd gasped and shut his eyes _hard_ and she could see he was trying, _trying so hard_ not to cry or scream or faint that his entire body _shook_ with the effort - managed to just _hum_ and _shush_ and _it's alright_ , until he finally, _finally_ had either fallen asleep or passed out.

She'd wept then, turned away with her hand over her mouth so no one - not him, not anyone passing in the corridor - would hear her, and let herself be _horrified_ , _disgusted_ and so desperately, desperately sad for the boy - for the _man -_ she'd considered one of her closest friends since he'd come to Camelot.

And then she'd gone back to wiping away grime, blood, and the _Gods_ knew what else, feeling thoroughly inadequate with her little linen cloth and bowl of water.

Morgana's chambers weren't _safe_ , but she had agreed with Merlin when he'd hesitantly suggested he might hide there for a little while, _until the searches are called off_ \- it was probably one of the safest places in Camelot. Everyone knew not to enter them, because they were still Lady Morgana's - but the difference between these rooms and the rest of the castle was that _everyone_ in this case included the servants, too. They were dutifully cleaned once a week, but that was Gwen's job anyway, and no one else ever had a reason to go there.

And Merlin had known that, because he'd taken time from his busy schedule and helped her twice to sweep and dust and air the bed, just to keep her company.

He'd looked pallid, worn, when she'd followed Arthur through his chambers earlier that day with trepidation, not knowing what she might find, into the small servant's room - sitting very still on the floor next to the bed, with a blanket over his shoulders, eyes bright and blank with fever, and just the smallest nod of recognition as she stepped through the door.

"Merlin", she'd breathed. She'd wanted to say _I looked everywhere for you_ but it almost sounded like a threat or an accusation, so she said nothing; and she'd wanted to say _I'm so sorry, so sorry for not bringing Arthur to you like you wanted, so sorry for doubting you_ but if the phrase _too little too late_ ever had felt more appropriate at least she couldn't remember such a time now; and she'd wanted to say _You're ill, Merlin, I'll fetch Gaius_ but Gaius had been taken to the dungeons yesterday and couldn't come.

"Hi, Gwen", he'd whispered.

For lack of something better to say, she'd whispered: "Hi", and then felt stupid.

As on cue, they'd both turned to Arthur - because that's what they _normally_ did, because Arthur usually was the one to _give_ cues (or orders) - and he had looked deeply uncomfortable.

There had been a tense, awkward silence.

"You needed my help?" she'd then prompted, when no one else spoke.

Arthur had looked, if possible, even more uncomfortable. "Well. Yes. No. That is -"

"It's not Arthur who needs help", Merlin had said then, which they'd all _known_ but somehow it still had to be _said_ because there were _ways these things were done_ and they were, all three of them, apparently stuck going through the same motions as polite society demanded, despite everything. Ridiculous, really. "It's… it's me."

"Of course", she'd blurted almost before Merlin had stopped talking. "Of course. If I can", she'd added, when wondered _why on earth_ she'd felt the need to add that. "If I can, I want to", she had amended, not sure if that helped either.

Merlin's pale and sweaty face had lit up then, the tiniest amount - not a smile, no, but something on its way on becoming a smile. "Really?" he'd asked with _wonder_ (and somewhat sounding a little bit like doubt) in his voice.

She'd looked him in the eyes then.

The sorcerer.

Her friend.

The traitor.

And she'd said, as kindly, as softly as she could: "Yes, really."

And if his eyes watered and his smile, an _actual smile_ , was shaky and weak, she didn't blame him - not at all.

And she had listened to his plan to move him to Morgana's chambers, and she'd helped improve it by suggesting the disguise, and she'd promised to be back as soon as she could, _right away_ , and she'd left - returning with her breath caught in her throat and carrying clean sheets for the Prince's bed and, carefully stacked away inside the sheets, a standard Camelot servant's dress which belonged to Aida, the tallest of the maids in the Camelot household.

And then she'd gone and fetched Aida who always got stuck dusting because she reached where no other maid did and _loathed_ it but couldn't say no, asked her for a favour to _please help her carry bathwater too for the Prince she'd have to go so many times otherwise_ and then she and Aida carried pail after pail of hot and cold water and _finally_ the guards stopped paying attention to what they were doing and then one of the times when she and Aida got out of the Prince's chambers it was really she and Merlin who got out of the chambers because Aida had left a while ago for more water, and she'd been _so scared_ but the guards didn't look _because why would they_ and _it was all fine_.

And Morgana's chambers were close, so if she'd held her breath all the while it took them to go there it was _fine_ and they were _fine_ and she'd almost slammed the door shut behind them in relief before remembering she'd have to go out to carry more water for the bath Arthur never wanted to take, so she'd just told Merlin to hide in the closet and then had run back down to the well, trying to calm her wildly beating heart because they had _done it_.

She'd even remembered to thank Aida.

All the while she and Merlin planned and she (with the unknowing help of Aida) fetched and carried and plotted and worried, Arthur hadn't said much. Not even when Merlin changed into the dress (with her help, face pale and drawn as it pulled on his wouds), which he'd probably _normally_ would mock him for, nor when she and Merlin had _looked_ at each other in terror and determination before venturing out into the corridor with their breath caught in their throats.

He'd let it happen, though.

She'd wondered at that, but it hadn't felt right to question anything at the time, not when they had so little time before the knights might be back to search the room.

She still wondered at that now - that _if he wanted Merlin to get away_ , he _must_ believe Merlin to be innocent. But, _if he believed Merlin to be innocent_ , surely he would have _talked_ to him? Or even looked straight at him, instead of avoiding eye contact with his head held high?

She didn't understand.

She grabbed the empty pail by the door (thoroughly tired of hauling water up and down staircases - but then again, that was nothing new, and she only allowed herself one sigh before she set her shoulders and got to it), resolved to try to come back to talk to Arthur later, to ask him. If Merlin didn't need her, of course.

She closed the door to Morgana's chambers softly behind her, and set off in the direction of Gaius' chambers. The corridor was blessedly empty, as it usually was.

Despite _everything,_ it felt _good_ to be needed.

* * *

 _They searched the entire castle._

 _Three times._

 _He heard them run back and forth in groups of three or four - panicked, the first time; vigilant, the second; restless, the third. They began hurried; continued with care; ended sloppily, bored of doing the same task again._

 _They never searched his rooms again - they had done so with utmost care the first time, and he had refused to let them enter the following times._

 _They also searched the King's rooms only once - the knight commanding the search probably felt it was impudent, imposing, to ask permission a second time, when the King now spent most of his time there himself - grieving, planning or seething with anger, no one knew._

 _And they also searched Lady Morgana's empty chambers only once, uncomfortable with invading a lady's privacy, even if she wasn't there to protect it herself. They were let in by her lady's maid, and the lady's maid stayed until the search was finished - good thing too, or so some said, or it was rumoured the guards would have gone through even the lady's undergarments, if she hadn't been there to warn them off._

 _And after they had gone, the lady's maid had locked the door and then removed the shifts, the petticoats and linens from the sorcerer at the bottom of the closet, and helped him into bed._

 _And the guards had to report to the King that the sorcerer hadn't been found._

 _And it was, after a few days, generally agreed that the sorcerer must have fled Camelot._

 _And slowly, everything got back to normal for the people of Camelot._

 _For most people._

* * *

 _Day Fourteen_

Arthur couldn't stop smiling.

He knew he shouldn't - for both obvious and not so obvious reasons. The obvious reasons consisted mainly of _there's a dangerous sorcerer on the loose_ or variants thereof, while the not so obvious ones instead were things like _my manservant the sorcerer is hiding in Morgana's chambers and I haven't told anyone about it which I possibly should have or possibly shouldn't have_ as well as _the physician who has always been loyal to my father has apparently known all along about this sorcerer and hid him under our noses and will now die because of it which might be a really bad thing that should be stopped or possibly only a tragic unavoidable consequence._

But with the wind in his hair and fresh air in his lungs for the first time in almost two weeks - for now, he couldn't help being happy.

From the looks of some of the guards he'd met rushing down the stairs to the training grounds, they'd understood. Most of Camelot knew him well enough, he supposed, to have figured out that he'd been climbing the walls for at least ten days now, and any stoicism on his part would be seen as just that - stoicism, but nothing else.

 _Fie_ , it felt good to be able to _move_ again.

"Call it a day, Sire?" Leon took a step back, half-lowering his blunted training sword and raising his visor. He was red in the face with exertion, and Arthur realised he must not look any better himself.

He wanted to say _No, let's go again, just one more time_ , but because he knew Leon would _have_ to say _Of course, Sire_ if he did and he _knew_ Leon was tired (and, frankly, despite his wish to go on and on and _on and on_ , so was he), he instead said "Why not", and sheathed his own sword, wincing as his shoulder protested when he lowered his shield.

The sun was already on its way down - how that had happened, Arthur had no idea. It seemed like mere moments ago his father had come by his chambers just before noon today - angry, but in a way that made Arthur sure that he was more angry with himself than with anyone else - and once again looking so very tired. He'd said _We've searched everywhere_ and Arthur had said _I'm sure, Father_. And he'd said _The sorcerer must be long gone_ and Arthur had said _Yes, Father_ (and clenched his teeth against the lie). And he'd said _There seems to be no reason to keep you in here for much longer_ and Arthur's heart had almost leapt out of his chest, which Uther must have seen, because he'd continued, warningly _But we'll have to keep you supervised, of course_ and Arthur had said _Yes - yes of course, Father, I wouldn't want anything else_.

And so, he'd been freed. Allowed outside, to see the sun, having to pay only the very small price of Sir Montague following him around all day, looking somehow simultaneously alert and ready for any _sorcery_ that might possess Arthur at any moment, and bored out of his mind.

He'd spent almost all of his first day of freedom here, on the training grounds - challenging the knights one by one, not even caring in the slightest when some of them beat him, and when no more knights volunteered, he asked (with the voice he knew was interpreted as an order) the guards or squires to volunteer instead. Eventually, Leon had offered a more structured training session (most likely to spare the squires from either the humiliation of having been beat by the Prince who had fought for hours, or the harassment from some of the younger knights that would surely follow if they _did_ manage to win) and Arthur had happily agreed.

He supposed all good things must come to an end, eventually, as he was helped out of his armour by a blond boy who was probably only fourteen or fifteen, but surprisingly efficient.

"Make sure it's cleaned and polished, will you?" he told more than asked the boy, and got a surprised "Y-yes, Sire" in reply.

Sir Montague rose from his seat on one of the wooden benches by the training grounds, where he'd been sitting for the past few hours. He gave a small nod when Arthur passed, and then followed.

Arthur figured the _small price to pay_ would very soon get very, very annoying.

He hesitated on his way over the courtyard, his steps slowing, something very familiar _and damn it all it was heavy_ uncomfortably lodging itself in his guts.

He should go down to the dungeons. Talk to Gaius. He owed him that.

He should go to Morgana's rooms and see if Merlin was finally awake (Guinevere had sounded hopeful about him maybe waking up today, when he spoke to her yesterday).

But he couldn't do either of those things, with Montague on his heels. And fie, he felt like a _coward_ , but that thought felt a lot like relief.

He wanted to stay outside all night. Take a blanket, a horse and some food that was easy to bring along, and sleep under the stars. ( _He wanted to bring Merlin along and hear him get up in the middle of the night to put more wood on the fire and then go back to his blankets on the other side of the glade_ ).

He wanted to go to his father's rooms and confess everything, and _then_ take a blanket, a horse and some food that was easy to bring along, and stay away for a week and not come back until the dust had settled from the chaos and ruin he'd leave behind.

He absolutely didn't want to go back to his rooms.

But he did.

Sir Montague nodded one more time in recognition as he took up his post outside Arthur's door (" _For your protection, Arthur, not to keep you here_ "), and Arthur felt too tired, too dispirited, to do more in gratitude than nod back. He should say something. He didn't.

To his surprise, his rooms weren't empty when he entered them.

"Guinevere", he said, throwing his scabbard and belt in a corner and closing the door behind him. (He didn't like it closed anymore, but he didn't like it open either.) "This is unexpected."

Guinevere, who had been sitting on the edge of one of the chairs by the table, now stood awkwardly next to it, looking embarrassed - and Arthur hurried to add: "Not - not in a bad way, unexpected, just - I just didn't… expect… to see you."

And then he wished immediately he could take it back and say something more like _But very pleasant_ or _Please, don't get up_ or something that sounded more chivalrous than out right stupid. Instead he stood in very uncomfortable silence, wishing _very much_ her presence would influence him the way it _apparently_ did.

He supposed he didn't mind it all that much when _she_ acted that way around _him,_ though. Which, he had to admit, she did sometimes, for example now - she started walking around the table, picking up a goblet before immediately putting it down again; adjusting a chair that was slightly crooked; swiping some breadcrumbs into her hand and picking up some trinkets lying spread across the table; apologizing for intruding and saying she could leave if he wanted, it's just that she thought maybe he'd like the company -

"Guinevere", he interrupted, now instead feeling increasingly amused. "It's fine. I'm happy you're here."

"Oh", she said. Her hands stilled, and she ceased her walk around the table. "Good." She smiled hesitantly.

The next silence wasn't at all as uncomfortable as the last one had been.

"Was there anything in particular?" Arthur prompted.

"Oh!" Guinevere said again. "Yes, of course! Yes -" she lowered her voice to a whisper "- _he_ woke up again, and I think he's able to communicate now. I thought you might want to know."

Arthur had also thought he wanted to know. He wasn't so sure, now - but he _should_ be sure, he _should_ be brave, and he _should want to get to the bottom of this_. So he said: "Yes, of course, thank you." He paused, and then, in a glimmer of brilliance, he thought of something which would count as a valid reason to ask her to stay. "So, we'd just have to think of a way to get around Sir Monta -"

His voice seemed to trail off of his own accord.

"Arthur?" Guinevere asked with a small frown. "What's wrong?"

Despite something that felt like a fist painfully tight around his heart, he managed to get the words out. "Gwen. Your hand."

She looked confused, then gasped loudly - and the little crystal fell down onto the stone floor with a small _clink_ ing sound when she, as if instinctively wanting to get away from fire, from pain - dropped it.

Arthur felt as if he'd been frozen - _petrified_ \- as if he was a rabbit cowering under the gaze of a serpent, not able to move - but Guinevere apparently didn't feel the same. She slowly reached down, albeit with a visibly shaking hand, and picked the little rock back up.

"But why?" she whispered, as the crystal once again started glowing when it came into contact with her skin.

Her eyes were more confused than scared when they met his again - her hand still slightly shaking with the crystal gleaming in her palm stretched out towards him, as if _he_ knew what to do, as if _he_ could fix it, as _if he could do anything at all_.

"This makes no sense", he heard himself whisper.

"Why does it glow?" she asked in a smaller voice he'd ever heard her use, and his heart _ached_ for her, because he knew _exactly_ how she felt, and he couldn't do _anything_ for her.

"I don't know, Gwen", he whispered hoarsely. "I have no idea."

* * *

 _There was an announcement, the day after the sorcerer was almost caught in the Prince's chambers._

 _The announcement said that on the fourth day from now, a traitor to the crown would be executed, because he had been found guilty of conspiring against the crown and harbouring a sorcerer, and no other punishment than death would suffice for such crimes._

 _No one tried to overturn the verdict._

 _No one stepped forward._

 _And it was generally agreed that the King must have been tricked, or fooled, in some way, or his mind turned by his own fear of magic, because the traitor to be executed was his oldest friend._

 _But - the people of Camelot agreed - there was nothing to be done._

* * *

 _A/N: Would you look at that, almost regular in my updating! Some of it can be attributed to that I finally can see the end of this monstrosity (it was supposed to be six or seven chapters, if you remember). I now expect three more chapters, and possibly an epilogue. Something might still happen to change that, but now I have everything roughly mapped out at least._

 _I hope this didn't feel too much of a transportation chapter and that you could enjoy it anyway. Next chapter brings Merlin/Arthur interaction(!), more Arthur, and a reuniting with Gaius I know some of you have been waiting a while for. If you want to leave a line with your thoughts or something you liked about this story or chapter, I read it all and all reviews make me very happy!_


	10. The Core of It All

_**Chapter Ten: The Core of It All**_

* * *

 _Day Fifteen_

The guards bowed slightly as he passed, and he waved a quick _nevermind that_ with one hand to let them know they could sit back down. The door to the inner corridor of cells gave a dull _clang_ when it shut behind him.

It had been Sir Brennis by his door that morning, and he'd looked like he was asleep on his feet. Arthur had - well, maybe not _taken advantage_ , but since he knew Sir Brennis had gotten strict orders to _not stray from the Prince,_ had definitely _used_ that to his advantage, and given him strict orders to indeed do stray from the Prince and go straight to bed, Arthur could take it from here, thank you.

The fact that Brennis had caved, bowed and mumbled a _yessire,_ and then left, had given Arthur a thrill of excitement.

He was alone. Outside his doors. _Openly._

He could go wherever he wanted. Do whatever he wanted. And _damn it all_ , he was going to.

But first, he had a duty.

It was barely past dawn - he hadn't slept much once Guinevere had left the night before - and the corridor was dimly lit. It was also empty - there was no _dangerous sorcerer_ kept here now; no one needed constant supervision. Keeping guards in the guard room was enough for a common, dirty traitor.

Still, he knew where to go.

Gaius looked older than Arthur had ever seen him. The way he sat - with his back against a wall, but seemingly too tired (or too weak) to care to use it for support - made him look almost hunchbacked. The food in the bowl next to him was untouched, probably from last night's meager dinner, and his feet were bloody - Arthur didn't look too closely as to why.

Arthur almost flinched when he met his eyes. There was something that looked like resignation - no, _acceptance_ \- in the old man's face, and it _hurt._

"Sire." A raspy whisper, followed by a cough.

Arthur swallowed the dry itch that had settled in his throat. "Gaius."

"Why have you come, Arthur?" Gaius said, not unkindly, but unusually direct.

Arthur wanted to say _Because I didn't come for Merlin, and I wanted to make up for it._

Arthur wanted to say _To help you escape - I have a set of keys that will open any door in the Castle, including the dungeons, and I've brought it, here -._

Arthur wanted to say _Because I needed to see you one last time, because you've been important to me and I want to thank you, Gaius, for everything you've ever -_

He took a step closer to the cell and said: "To… put your mind at ease. If I can."

"Indeed?"

"I know where Merlin is." A breath; a whisper - he trusted no one, they always listened.

Gaius' face revealed nothing. "You do, Sire?"

Arthur stared for a second, before he said, sure that his pain, his _incredulity_ at _still_ being distrusted could be heard in his voice: "I do. And he's safe." A pause, before he added: "He's getting better."

Finally, _finally_ , Gaius' face relaxed into relief. "Thank you, Sire", he said, looked away and blinked several times. " _Thank_ you."

And Arthur heard _Thank you for taking care of my boy_.

And Arthur heard _Thank you for not being your father._

And Arthur heard _Thank you for the changes you will bring_.

"Don't thank me", Arthur whispered. _He was not who Gaius wished him to be_. _He didn't bring the keys to let him out. He had no plan. He didn't know what to do._

"I know you very well, Arthur", Gaius said softly, and when he met Arthur's eyes again, there was a certainty and a kindness there Arthur didn't feel he deserved. "I _know_ this hasn't been easy for you. Any of it. You love your father very much. His words have been your guiding principles in every aspect of your life. You have become a good knight, a strong leader and a good politician, by learning from your father. He is a strong king. To go against him in this way, when you _know_ how much he fears and hates magic… that took strength, Arthur. And I am _so_ proud of you."

There was a burning behind his eyes Arthur couldn't blink away. "But you'll _die_ tomorrow, Gaius!" he couldn't help but exclaim. "And I could have -"

"You could", Gaius agreed, without waiting for what Arthur _could have done._ "But - Arthur, listen to me now - _it is not your responsibility to do so._ "

"Then _whose_ responsibility is it?" Arthur demanded. _No one else would come. No one else would act. If not he, then who?_

Gaius didn't answer at first.

"When I first took Merlin in as my physician's apprentice", he then said slowly, "I knew it might very well end in my death. I could have sent him away, fearing for my life, but I didn't. Did you know that one of the first things he did when we first met was to save my life with magic?"

Gaius clearly didn't expect an answer, and Arthur was grateful. _No. He hadn't known. (If it was true, that is.) Of course he hadn't known. How could he?_

"And even if it hadn't been that I now owed this boy my life… he needed someone, and I knew that even if I wasn't an ideal choice of mentor for him, I was all there was. Everyone else was either in hiding, or dead. So he was mine. To teach, what little I know. To grow to love. To protect -"

Gaius' voice broke.

"And you did." Arthur tried to sound comforting. He doubted he succeeded.

"And I _tried_ ", Gaius corrected. "In the end, I failed." He wiped his face with one hand - slowly, painstakingly; not hiding the fact that he was crying, nor acknowledging it in any other way than that, and his voice was even when he spoke again. "You didn't see him down here, Sire. You didn't _see_ … and, well. It makes no difference. The point is, I accepted the fact that hiding Merlin from the King might get me executed and decided that _it was worth it._ "

"You don't mind that you're going to die?"

"Of course I _mind_!" Gaius sounded affronted, and for the first time, like his old self - like the Gaius Arthur had known all his life. "I'd much rather not. Very much not. But _if_ I am to die, and it seems I am… you should know, Sire, that I've made my peace with it."

"I haven't", Arthur said, and then regretted it. He sounded like a _child_. He felt like one - a child, confused as his parents argued - a child with his hands over his ears to shut the screaming out - a child, longing for familiarity without finding it. He was _better_ than that, damn it all.

Gaius' eyes softened. "I know. And... Merlin probably hasn't either. If you could… perhaps get a message to him…?"

 _Could you talk to him, Sire?_

 _Have you two spoken, Sire?_

 _Have you forgiven him, Sire?_

"Perhaps", Arthur allowed.

"Then you should tell him this isn't his fault", Gaius said simply. "He won't believe you, because that is the kind of person he is. But if you could tell him - it _isn't_ his fault."

 _It's the King's fault._

"I'll tell him", Arthur whispered.

"Thank you", Gaius said again, and it felt just as wrong as it had the first time he'd said it.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I… if it isn't too much to ask, Gaius -" and for the first time since he'd arrived, he dared look back at Gaius' legs and feet and saw then _covered_ in bruises; cuts; what must have been lash marks; blood; filth; and he swallowed _something_ that had lodged in his throat which felt like _revulsion_ and it felt like it was directed towards his _father_ if he hadn't known better - "I came here to seek your… assistance. But I… understand if you would… wish for me to leave."

Gaius gave a humourless laugh. "Once more can't hurt, Sire. What is it you wish to ask of me?"

"It's... Guinevere." And if Gaius took on a knowing look, Arthur pretended not to notice. "She…"

"Yes?" Gaius prompted, when no more came.

"Her blood is magic too."

"Her blood is magic?"

"It makes the rock glow", Arthur clarified, suddenly annoyed that there was a whole area of _magic terminology_ he apparently couldn't get right.

Gaius stared. "It does what?"

"Do you know why? Gaius, do you have _any_ idea why?" The desperation, the will to protect, was stronger than his will to appear in control. _It was a long time since he was in control._

The old man shook his head. "It shouldn't", he whispered, almost as if to himself. "There should be no reason…"

" _Shouldn't?_ No, there bloody well _shouldn't_." _There should be no reason for his blood to glow either._

Gaius took no notice. He stared at Arthur, as if there were answers written on his face, in his expressions. "I can think of only one reason", he said then. "But I couldn't be sure. And I think you'd do much better to ask Merlin that question than me."

"Did Merlin do this? Did he cast magic on her?" The white, hot, _burning_ anger he hadn't felt for _days_ suddenly came back, with a furious vengeance. _He'd kill him himself._

"Of course not", Gaius barked. "Don't be an idiot. But he may _know_."

"Oh." Arthur deflated. Of course.

Gaius looked hesitant. "Don't… Well. I don't know what you've talked about, or what has been said, Sire. But… please be patient with him. Please. He's… he's suffered enough." His voice broke slightly on _suffered_.

And Arthur could only nod. _There could be no promises. But there could be acknowledgement._

For a moment, there was silence.

"Well then." Gaius gave a slight, mirthless smile. "I suppose this is goodbye, for you and I."

"I suppose so", Arthur agreed.

And there was so much to say.

And so very little time in which to say it.

And what little time there was, was _tainted_ by the knowledge of what would happen afterwards.

And so, there seemed to be very little to say.

"Goodbye then, Gaius", he whispered.

"Goodbye, Arthur", said Gaius kindly.

And Arthur turned to leave, but then something made him turn back - half-way twisted towards the door, towards _freedom;_ half-way towards the old man he'd known his _entire life_. "Gaius", he said, and he sounded much younger than his twenty years of age but he _couldn't help it_ , "I… have a set of spare keys to the dungeons. I… I could…"

"I know you do, Arthur." Gaius didn't look at him. He seemed to find his hands more fascinating, folded gently in his lap. "And I know you could. But your father would find out. And he would never forgive you."

"Does that matter?" To his great shame, he felt his eyes welling up with tears, and he blinked _and blinked and blinked_ but the burning just _wouldn't go away_.

"I think it might."

 _Would it?_

 _Would it matter_ enough?

"And", Gaius continued, as if this was a totally normal topic of conversation, "I won't ask you to make that choice."

"Perhaps you should."

"Perhaps I should", Gaius agreed. "But I won't. I am an old man, Arthur. And I am in pain." For the first time, something flickered on Gaius' face - a wince; a grimace, as he looked down on his legs. "And, if that wasn't enough, I have made many mistakes, and even if protecting that boy isn't one of them, it might be time for me to atone for some of my old sins."

"I will miss you." Somehow, he managed to get the words out.

Gaius looked up at that. He didn't turn around - Arthur doubted he could, without causing himself a great deal of pain, as it were - but he smiled slightly. A wavering smile. "And I will miss you, my boy. So very much."

And Arthur fled, and he felt as if his insides had turned to ice.

* * *

 _Some Time After the Incident_

He opened his eyes to a soft morning light, and for the first time in days ( _weeks?_ ), he felt almost… _normal_ , when he woke up.

He thought he might actually have slept through the entire night, this time. Gwen had seemed cheerful when she helped him to some water and broth yesterday afternoon (which he really, _really_ was beginning to loathe - he wanted _proper_ food, but Gwen said he couldn't have any, and he really was in no position to complain about it, considering she was already committing _treason_ for him and still hadn't even yelled at him for keeping secrets or _anything_ ) and even said he must be getting better.

He hadn't said _Much better, really, my back only feels like it's on fire now, not like someone's pouring acid_ and _fire on it_ , or _Oh yeah? How do you measure that? In outgrown fingers_? or _I guess I must be, because sooner or later you're going to need me to rescue you all again and it really wouldn't do for me to be dying of fever then, would it_.

He'd said _It actually feels a little better_.

And Gwen had smiled, and he'd managed a little smile too ( _for her_ ) and he hadn't said _Is Arthur coming?_ or _Where's Gaius?_ or _What am I going to do now, Gwen, I can't hide here forever_.

He'd said _I'm still a bit tired though_ with an apologetic tone of voice, and if her smile had faltered just a little, she'd soon brightened it again, and she'd said _of course_.

And he had closed his eyes again, hoping that next time he opened them, he wouldn't feel so helpless; so _angry_.

He should feel _grateful_. She had stayed. She hadn't asked any questions - she must have known he hadn't been up for answering any of them, but he should feel grateful she had taken that into consideration. He should feel… _more._

He felt neither angry nor grateful. Now, he just felt tired. And, actually - a little hungry. He supposed that was a good thing.

And then someone moved, just slightly, next to him, and in an instant, he was _very_ awake and instinctively both turned in that direction and tried getting away -

\- and almost yelled in pain as he twisted his still healing back, falling back down on his stomach in an undignified heap with his eyes shut tightly against the pain, while not until _now_ having time to think _if they were there to kill him or recapture him, they probably already would have_.

He landed with his head turned in the other direction, though, and when he thought he could open his eyes again without crying, he saw Arthur sitting in a chair about three feet to the right of the bed.

After a while, Merlin said: "Hi."

Arthur shifted uneasily. "How… are you?"

The inexplicable _rage_ he seemed to fight _all the time_ these days rose in his chest, and he had to take a breath to steady himself to not say _Just splendid, Sire, tip-top shape and all that_ or _Well it would have been better if_ someone _had broken me out of the dungeons before your father started torturing me_ or _I thought I would die there, alone._ "I've been better", was the compromise he felt he could live with.

"Of course", Arthur murmured.

Silence.

"Where's Gwen?" Merlin asked stiffly, and wondered at his own want to sound, act, _be_ normal.

Arthur's face seemed to close at that, but his voice sounded neutral enough when he said: "It's laundry day, apparently, and she said everyone is needed."

 _Laundry day. Indeed_. Irony, he supposed.

Silence. Again.

"For pity's sake, Arthur", Merlin said when his deep breaths didn't help anymore and it felt like if he didn't speak _now_ , something far worse would burst out of him, "just say it."

Arthur started, just the tiniest bit. "Say what?"

"Whatever you came here to say", Merlin said irritably.

And beneath the rage rising within him, a part of him _grieved_ for the fact that _this_ , apparently _,_ would be the way he _finally, finally_ could tell Arthur everything to come clean to _trust_ ; _this_ would be the way - lying on his stomach, sweaty and weak from fever and injury, with no choice in the _when_ or the _how_ \- he would be judged; _this_ would be the end, much more so than his imprisonment or the beatings or his escape, of his world as he knew it.

"Gaius" - Arthur cleared his throat and started again, "Gaius is set to be executed tomorrow morning. I thought you'd like to know."

Merlin couldn't help staring and winced as he rose onto his elbows and turned over on one side to face Arthur. _That had… not been what he expected._ "He is _what again_?"

Arthur set his jaw. "You heard me."

"For _what?"_ Merlin said incredulously. "Helping me escape? He had nothing to do with it, I did that all on my own!"

"Hadn't he?" Arthur asked, his face unmoving. It was very unlike him, Merlin thought briefly - he usually showed most of his emotions on his face and Merlin had learned to read them all. "He was supposed to give you a magic inhibitor."

"There never _was_ a magic inhibitor", Merlin said, now rather angry again, but it was a _cleaner_ anger, somehow, a _better_ anger, an anger he could _justify_. "There's no such thing."

"And yet, the King seems to believe there is, and since you broke out with magic-" and if Arthur hesitated at the word, it was only very slight - "it was obvious Gaius wasn't following orders."

There was a sensation in his stomach - almost as if he was falling from a very high place. Guilt, he realised. Crippling guilt, making it difficult to breathe. _He'd known. And yet, he'd hoped - and so he hadn't asked - which he should have - but he hadn't_ wanted _to know - and so he'd pretended not to know._ "So", he finally said, when he thought he could speak without his voice breaking. "What should we do about it?"

"There's another thing", Arthur said, looking away, speaking as if he hadn't heard. "Gwen."

"What about her?" Merlin said irritably.

Arthur still looked out the window on his right. "Her blood is affected too."

"Affected by what?"

"By magic."

Finally, what Arthur was - and wasn't - saying registered in Merlin's mind. "You've tested it with the crystal."

Arthur looked at him at that - _with suspicion? With relief? With worry for Gwen?_ _He should be able to tell, should he not?_ "Yes."

There was a brief moment where Merlin only had time to think of the absolute absurdity of the situation, of how much they weren't saying, of how much they weren't doing, of how _much there was between them now_. "What does that mean?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

A short, sharp laugh broke out of him. "Arthur, I don't even know why _your_ blood glows." He had a couple of guesses. "Gaius might know", he added pointedly.

Arthur said nothing.

"We could break him out."

"How?" Arthur asked sharply, and it was as if he _dared_ Merlin to say _With magic, of course_.

Merlin found he didn't dare. "You have keys", he said instead.

"They can't be used", Arthur said shortly.

"Why not?"

"Trust me, they can't", Arthur snapped.

For a brief moment, Merlin was sure they both wondered the same thing. _Trust me_. Could he?

"He doesn't deserve to _die_ , Arthur!" _I don't deserve to die._

Arthur's facade _finally_ cracked a little, and Merlin could see his pain when he said: "There's nothing that can be done."

Throwing all caution to the wind and hearing the accusation in his own voice, Merlin hissed: "There's _always_ something that can be done."

"He doesn't want us to."

"To _hell_ with what he wants!" Merlin said a little too loudly, and then froze, listening to hear if someone would come running. When no one did, he continued: "He doesn't, not really, he just feels he has to for _some_ reason, and _I won't let him,_ do you hear me? I won't let him. I'll do it myself if I have to."

Arthur sat very still. "You've changed", he said then, and there was a strange sadness to the way he said it.

"So have you", Merlin said, and couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Arthur flinched as if struck, and Merlin almost regretted it, but the part of him that was aflame with the creeping, hot rage which had mixed itself with the righteous anger for Gaius felt triumphant.

"I wouldn't know", Arthur said quietly, and he didn't offer an explanation when Merlin raised an eyebrow at the cryptic answer.

Instead, he rose from the chair. "I have promised to bring you a message from Gaius." And his voice was the _princely_ voice Merlin usually teased him about; the regal Arthur, the Arthur he might become when he one day was King. "He wants you to know that it's not your fault, what will happen. He says you won't believe him, but that it's the truth." Arthur paused, as if deliberating what to say next, before he continued. "There's also the matter of your presence in Camelot. You should leave as soon as possible. Sooner or later someone _will_ find you."

It wasn't a threat. Merlin heard that; Arthur hadn't intended to threaten him. _There was that, at least_. And yet, it _felt_ like one. "I can't leave", he said quietly, knowing that however much he could fight Arthur and hurt him with his words or way he said them; however furious or abandoned or betrayed he felt; however _scared_ ; he _couldn't_.

He was bound to Arthur, whether he wanted to or not.

Whether he trusted him or not.

Whether _Arthur_ wanted him or not.

And he didn't quite know how to feel about that.

"You must", Arthur said. "Or you'll die as well."

It _should_ have been a huge relief to hear Arthur say he didn't want him to die.

"I'm more resourceful than you might think", Merlin said, and it _could_ have been said in the light, teasing tone they usually spoke to one another in, but it came out flat and direct.

"Which is why you're incapacitated in Morgana's bed", Arthur snapped, and that too _could_ have been said as a teasing comment, but it felt like a blow to his guts because it _wasn't_ , it was harsh and bitter and _true_.

He could have acted sooner.

He _should_ have acted sooner.

He should have been smarter, braver, quicker - he could have saved himself a lot - _a lot_ \- of pain; he could have still felt like himself; he could have impressed Arthur; he could have changed Camelot for good; _he should have acted sooner_.

What good was he now - to Arthur, to _Gaius_ , to _anyone_ \- in the state he was in?

What good was he now for everything he once had been destined for?

He found no way to answer. He could have said _Well, not any worse than you tend to be before breakfast_ , if things had been normal. Or he could have said _Get out_ , if he had dared. Or he could have said _I'll get better_ , if he had believed it mattered.

Arthur waited for him to say something, and twitched slightly - uncomfortably? - when he didn't.

"I'll…" Arthur started, then cleared his throat and started again. "You should leave as soon as you can."

It meant _Goodbye_.

And Arthur left.

And Merlin buried his head in the pillow not to see the empty space where he had been.

* * *

 _Day Fifteen_

Arthur closed the door to Morgana's chambers with a very precise, controlled movement ( _so as not to slam it in frustration, fury, desperation_ ).

He walked back to his chambers with even steps. His shoes were soft leather and made very little noise. And yet, every step seemed too loud - seemed to echo - and with every step the tension in his chest grew.

 _He had no one._

There was _no one_ , now.

Morgana - his sister in all but blood - was gone, and he had been charged to find her, and he hadn't. The fact that she wasn't here to help, to share his pain, was his fault.

Gwen deserved his protection. Especially now, when he knew she was under some sort of unexplainable _magical_ effect (as was he). He could share some things with her - but he was a _Prince_ of Camelot, and however strong she was, she didn't have his resources. He carried the heavier burden. As he should. ( _But oh, how heavy it seemed_ ). And he didn't know what to do.

Gaius would die on the morrow, because Arthur was too much of a _coward_ to do anything about it. It was what Merlin had meant - oh, Arthur had heard it in his voice. _You coward,_ it had said, _after all he's done for you_. And he was right.

When once he might have asked his father for help… When he had decided to not turn Merlin in when he had come to him - no, probably earlier; when he had decided not to turn _Gaius_ in for saying the things he had said, turning to his father had become the road not taken. He was a traitor too, now, by association; and his father couldn't - _shouldn't,_ by his own laws, make an exception for him just because he was his son.

And Merlin was a sorcerer - not even trying to hide it anymore. A fugitive of the law. A creature of magic - tainted, stained, _evil_ to his _core_. Manipulative, cruel, merely waiting for a chance to ruin all of Camelot.

Except, it seemed, he _wasn't_.

From what Arthur had seen - what _little_ , because all in all, he hadn't talked more than an hour at most with Merlin since his _secret_ had been revealed - Merlin's loyalties hadn't changed at all. He might be bitter and hurt, now, but there had been no signs, in any step of the way, of Camelot being in danger from him.

He had waited patiently in the dungeons. He had been tortured. _Mutilated._ Waited, for Arthur to come.

And Arthur _hadn't come_. Not necessarily by choice. But Merlin hadn't known that.

And when Merlin had realised Arthur wasn't coming, he had broken out ( _which he apparently could have done all along)_ and he had come to Arthur instead. And Arthur had _mocked_ him. He'd seen the shock on his face when the jibe had hit its mark - he was so _stupid_ , he hadn't intended for it to _hurt_ , hadn't really thought -

If he could just _understand_.

Arthur had left him to rot. And _still_ he had come. No sane person would do such a thing. Then again, Arthur thought wildly, he'd been saying Merlin was out of his mind for years.

But point still standing.

He shouldn't have.

 _Arthur didn't deserve it_.

Because - and this was really the core of it all, wasn't it, Arthur thought as his carefully measured steps eventually brought him back to his own chambers - if Merlin wasn't evil… if there was no curse, no plot, if Merlin wasn't a _facade_ of an evil sorcerer but simply _was_ a sorcerer, and there was nothing inherently _evil_ about it…

Then Arthur had been the one in the wrong.

And so had the king.

If Merlin wasn't evil, he should never have wanted to set his foot in Camelot again. If Merlin had no _grandiose plan_ (which, Arthur now thought, had seemed rather unlikely all along, when one really thought about it) to _force_ or _manipulate_ his way to power or influence, he should have taken one long look in the mirror, or at his back, or at his _hand_ , and decided _none of this could possibly be worth it_ and _left_.

And yet, he hadn't.

And Arthur couldn't _understand_.

Was it friendship? But _how_ could it be - they were friends, Arthur could admit that (and had even said as much - or, well, _almost_ as much to Merlin on at least one occasion), but they were also servant and master, so their friendship could never be on equal terms, and it had been a barrier to them several times in the past. They would never be, _should_ never be, that close, by friendship alone.

But what else was there? He wondered now, at the times where Merlin had gotten that serious look on his face and said something like _I believe in you_ or _You will make a great king, I know it_ , and if that was it - that Merlin believed he deserved his loyalty because of things he hadn't yet done, but things he might do in the future. But then, if that was it - _why_ would he stay, when Arthur so _clearly_ hadn't fulfilled those expectations? When he couldn't live up to Merlin's view of him? When he had allowed him to be beaten and starved for far longer than he could justify? _Why?_ When Arthur would subject him to that, for having magic? For _protecting_ him, and all of Camelot, with magic? For condemning his likeminded kin, children and adults alike, to death, for having magic? Shouldn't Merlin be condemning Arthur right back, because of that?

How many had been innocent? he wondered, and locked the door behind him. It was still only morning - late morning, but morning nonetheless - and he marvelled at how _long_ this morning had been - and the light breaking in through the window was soft. How many he had stood by and seen die by fire in the courtyard had committed no crime, other than possessing magic?

How many had his father killed because he was _afraid_?

How many had Arthur killed with his own hands? With his sword; with his testimonies; with his orders?

How much _blood_ , with or without magic, had been spilled because of _him_?

And when his knees gave out, he let them. He sank down with his back towards the door, and cried as if his heart would break.

* * *

 _A/N: I apologise for the wait! I didn't mean to take so long with this chapter, but the next one proved a real pain to get through, and I like to be at least one chapter ahead of what I post to be able to make last-minute changes. The next one will likely be a lot quicker!_

 _As always, your reviews make me very happy! I hope you enjoyed poor Merlin and Arthur's wallowing in this chapter and hope you'll stay tuned for a little more plot the next chapter :)_


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